


The Physician

by Sindefara



Series: Loving Longest [1]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Mpreg, Sauron is amused
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-10-14 13:50:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 21,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10537797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sindefara/pseuds/Sindefara
Summary: Fingon wants to give a heir to the House of Fingolfin... and to remain faithful to Maedhros. Is it possible?





	1. The Traitor

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Chains of Steel and Shadow](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3768518) by Rainchilde [archived by [HASA_Archivist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist)]. 



> It's my own translation of my own work, published in Russian as "Мой врач" (https://ficbook.net/readfic/3721771).  
> I know that this is an illogical, odd and stupid tear-jerker. I wrote it a year and a half ago and I still love it. This story (and its sequels) had, however, a small number of dedicated readers. That's why I want to share it.  
> The description of Maedhros's captivity, in particular Melkor taking Fingon's shape, was inspired by "Chains of Steel and Shadow".  
> Of course, any corrections and suggestions are very welcome.

_Also the Eldar say that in the begetting, and still more in the bearing of children, greater share and strength of their being, in mind and in body, goes forth than in the making of mortal children. For these reasons it came to pass that the Eldar brought forth few children; and also that their time of generation was in their youth or earlier life, unless strange and hard fates befell them… For with regard to generation the power and the will are not among the Eldar distinguishable._  
_On the Laws and Customs among the Eldar_

He felt the edge of the knife on his neck. His hands were brutally twisted behind his back. His heart missed a beat.  
He heard a voice that he never, never should have heard behind his back on this narrow, hidden forest path - the voice of Fingon, High King of Noldor:  
\- Here you are!  
\- My King ... what had happened?... Why do you ... hold me?  
\- Where are you going? - Fingon's voice sounded grim and alien. The young man jolted in his grip, but Fingon’s hands were tenacious and strong. With an unexpected cruelty the King stepped with the heel of the boot on his foot, nearly breaking his bones. The young Elf cried out in pain. His sense returned to him, he began to understand the situation, and terror seized him.  
\- M-my king ... Lord ... Sir ... forgive me ... Please ... Let go ... let me go ... Just let me go ...  
\- Where are you going? – Fingon asked furiously.  
\- I was hunting ... here ... I need a ...  
\- Liar, - Fingon said in a low, muffled voice. The King pressed the young Elf to the trunk of the tree and tied his hands with his own belt, so that he felt pain all the time.  
\- Master, please, have mercy on me!  
\- I am not your master - The youth's legs failed him, and he almost fell on the snow, but Fingon held him so tightly that he almost hung in the air. - I know whom do you serve and where you're going.  
\- No!.. Please let me go ...  
\- If you start to scream, I'll kill you right away. If you show me where you're going, perhaps I'll spare you, you traitor, - said the King in disgust.  
\- Sire, - the young guard choked with fear, - please do not ... You do not have to go there, definitely, you do not need to ... I'm a traitor, yes, I told them what was going in in the palace, but I'm still my king's retainer. I cannot wish the death of my master. I never meant to destroy you, I would not betray you to your enemies!  
\- Do as I command! - Fingon interrupted him coldly. The young Elf tried to say something, but Fingon poked him with a knife in the neck, and then put the point to his temple; if the king had struck his prisoner with all his strength, he would have cut open his both eyes.  
The guard turned, looked at the leather bag and small spear that fell from his hands when Fingon grabbed him, then lowered his head obediently, looking at his feet: he realized that he would not need his belongings any more. He went ahead, Fingon did not let go of the belt, and still held the knife, now touching his neck, now the youth’s face.  
To suppress the pity for the delicate fair-haired Sinda who grew up in the royal palace was almost the most difficult thing for Fingon. The young Elf sometimes nervously looked back at his king, searching in his eyes for at least a shadow of sympathy, but there was none. His eyes roamed; sometimes his bound hands trembled. Fingon presumed that he wanted to escape, to think up something, perhaps to lead his lord somewhere else, to lead him off track, but the terror – the fear both of his lord, and the one who expected him in a secret hideout in the forest, drove him almost mad. He obeyed Fingon's orders without protest.

***

They came to a small stone hut in the middle of the wood. Gray walls and dark gray stone tiles on the roof were covered with moss, which the harsh winter could not kill.  
\- Knock, - the king ordered, and released the young Elf’s hand, continuing to hold him by the elbow.  
The guard knocked and Fingon entered the house behind him. He had enough time to notice the stone walls, a tiny window with a murky green glass and a huge flaming fireplace.  
From this fireplace, a black shadow rushed to them. The black cloak waved through the fire, fanning the flames, and the ardent tongues of fire blasted high, flying into the chimney. The guard’s body suddenly relaxed, almost dragging Fingon to the floor. The King felt a hot splash of blood spraying on his fingers. The neck of his companion was pierced through with a long and sharp throwing knife. The young Sinda Elf shuddered the last time. His head fell to one side and the tangled mess of blonde hair concealed from Fingon his rosy, half-childish face with a frozen teardrop of fear - forever.  
Fingon instinctively jolted back, but the door was closed.  
\- What a scum! - The iron-clad toe of a narrow black boot kicked a dead young Elf in the head, plunging into his straw-white hair.  
\- Thank you, - Fingon got up all his courage to answer. - I would hate to do it myself.  
Before him was a tall, slender figure, dressed in black. The stranger was even higher than Maedhros. At first, Fingon could not see him well. The host's hair seemed as dark as his own; for a moment he looked to Fingon very much like Uncle Feanor, but Fingon could not tell where the resemblance really was. Suddenly, Fingon realized with horror that all this was an illusion; neither to him nor to the traitor did the stranger show his true appearance.  
He wore black suede gloves without fingers. His thin white fingers moved with inhuman speed on the black background of the jacket, turning another long knife with a copper-red blade and pearly hilt, as if spinning in the air an invisible thread. It looked dreadful. He was dressed in a black leather jacket with an unassuming decoration of copper threads and small dull ruby buttons, black shirt, black breeches and high boots, also sprinkled with crimson stones. Under the jacket, Fingon noticed a fine black chain mail.  
Then the room suddenly became lighter. Even the glass in the window seemed to be not so cloudy, and he finally saw clearly the host’s snow-white face. The thin lips curved in a half-smile. The stranger lifted his hooded black cloak: heavy, fiery red strands of hair fell over his narrow shoulders. His huge, fiery-yellow eyes gazed fixedly at Fingon.  
Gorthaur, the Mist of Fear.  
Sauron.

***

\- I need to talk to you, - said Fingon.  
\- About what? Did you really try to catch me or even kill me, Fingolfin's son? It did not work out.  
\- Do not go away ... I want to talk to you. That is why I followed this ... unfortunate creature.  
Gorthaur almost seemed to laugh.  
\- Talk to me? And supposing you were not looking for an opportunity to meet me, would you notice that among your retainers there is a person who reports your every step?  
Sauron squinted, looked at Fingon again, and he guessed that the Maia decided not to end the sentence: _"...and he is not the only one"_.  
– So, why did you need me all of a sudden? - Sauron continued.  
\- I have a request.  
Sauron went to the fireplace and sat on a heavy wooden chair, putting his legs to the edge of the fireplace so that the fire almost touched the iron tips and heels of his boots. His goldish-ginger locks, down to the floor, were shimmering and seemed to move by themselves, echoing the flashes of fire in the fireplace.  
\- Well, Fingolfin’s son? Perhaps you want to ask me to free someone of your people who are in my captivity? .. Perhaps I could... But whom could you possibly mean? Maybe it's your...  
\- No! No! - Fingon did not want to be reminded of the terrible fate of the enslaved Noldor and Sindar and did not want to hear the names of the victims, whom he refused even to try to help at that moment. - Not at all, it's something else.  
\- What do you want? - Sauron looked at him attentively. His gaze grew even brighter - and at the same time darker. From the yellow, like the autumn leaves, the eyes became almost scarlet, and Fingon realized that they were not just bright, that they really shone from the inside: the rosy shadows on his pale, sharply outlined cheekbones, on the wings of his long, thin nose were not a blush, but the light of his monstrous eyes.  
Strangely, his derisive laughter, his crooked smile, reassured Fingon. He knew that he was dealing not with a man, but with a Maia, and these creatures, whatever they were, frightened him. Remembering the years in Valinor, Fingon was yearning for a sense of warmth, peace, security, which gave the presence of the Valar and their servants. At the same time, it was sometimes difficult for him to bear their presence. They did not need words for communication: very often their faces, which looked almost Elvish, did not express anything at all, and sometimes the Valar seemed to forget to give them a look. Even the expressions and eyes of the kindest of them, Manwë and Irmo, often seemed so alien, lifeless and rigid, as if a rock or a crystal suddenly began to look, talk and explain its thoughts, flowing slowly through the veins of stone, - that Fingon sometimes was glad that he could not see them anymore.  
The face that he saw now was shaped by centuries of communication with other living beings, there was almost nothing alien in it.  
It was a very plain, very human and very evil smile.  
\- I indeed need your help, and I can pay you anything if it depends only on me and me alone and will not affect the lives, honor and property of my relatives and subjects, - Fingon sighed. - I give you my royal word.  
If Gorthaur, as Fingon was almost sure, could really read his mind, now he could hardly understand anything - Fingon's thoughts were a complete mess. Strangely, Gorthaur's smile became less annoyed, more sincere, and even cheerful: he looked at Fingon with naive curiosity, like a little boy who expects a loving father to produce a surprise gift from behind his back.  
\- I need a child, - the king breathed out. - I want to have a baby.  
\- I beg your pardon, what are you talking about?  
\- My House needs an heir. Before ... going to battle, father made me swear to him in the name of Ilúvatar to produce a son and heir. These were his last words to me.  
Sauron came closer to him. His eyes were dull, narrow, almost black, and did not express anything; it seemed to Fingon that he was once again enveloped in a cloud; the tip of his index finger touched Fingon’s mouth. He felt a burn. Sauron withdrew. The yellow eyes on his pale face became bright once more and were fixed on Fingon.  
\- You know, Fingon ... what is your Noldorin name? Your names always confuse me… ah, Findecáno. I was expecting some truly fabulous folly, but I confess, you surprised me. I did not have an occasion to be surprised so much in four hundred years, no less. I cannot even understand you. Do you need a baby? Why do not you take it from one of your subjects? There are many Elvish children who became orphans after the Dagor Bragollach; nobody even knows who their parents were. You could pass one of them for your own. You could find such an orphan yourself or take him from his relatives by deception. No one will ever know. Or do you want me to do it for you?  
\- I need my own baby. A grandson of Nolofinwë. My own heir.  
\- Wait a minute, but you are still unmarried, aren’t you? Why don’t you get married? Are you able to have a relationship with a woman at all?  
\- I am not able ... I mean I can not betray the one I chose. The one whose bridal necklace I'm wearing. I love him. - Fingon clenched his fist, digging his long fingernails into his palm. - I have made a vow to my cousin and have exchanged marriage gifts with him. I made a vow in the name of Ilúvatar, and I can never break this oath even for my father's sake and for the oath I've given to him.  
\- That's the news, - Sauron raised his eyebrows in bewilderment, and it was hard to say whether this was indeed news to him. - So where do I come in the end? - He casted at Fingon a mockingly perplexed glance and (again very humanly) spread his hands.  
\- I want this child to be born to me. I want to give birth to him - or her - myself, and in this, I need your help.


	2. The Experiment

\- Sit down, - Sauron gestured toward the second chair by the fireplace. - How can I arrange this?  
Fingon could not say whether the golden flecks in his yellow eyes reflected the firelight, or they shone from within: the red sparks mingled with outbursts of darkness.  
\- You ... - Fingon sat opposite him. - You bred monstrous werewolves for your master, created dragons and heinous bats. I believe that you and no one else created the Orcs - your master does not have enough intelligence for that. I know you invented many outrageous tortures, distorting, cutting and mutilating the bodies of the children of Ilúvatar - both Eldar and Men. Your aim is death, but you know everything about what the living bodies are composed of, what is inside them, and how do the bodies live and reproduce. After all you were a Maia of Aulë: long ago I found out that you were with him when he created the forefathers of the dwarves. You are well versed in the creation and composition of the bodies of living creatures.  
\- You know that none of the Valar can actually create a new intelligent being, if Ilúvatar does not allow it, - said Gorthaur coldly.  
\- I'm not asking you to create a _new_ life, - said Fingon. - I just ask you to change my body so that I could naturally conceive and give birth to a child - as a mother, and not as a father.  
\- Do you want to impregnate yourself?  
Fingon slightly blushed.  
\- I already told you that I have a chosen one. I belong to him and I can not belong to anyone else ...  
Sauron laughed heartily, stood up and leaned toward Fingon, gripped the back of the heavy chair where Fingon was sitting, and tilted it playfully back and forth, shaking him, hanging over Fingon and looking him in the eyes. His thin cheeks were flooded with scarlet light, and Fingon almost physically felt the heat of this light playing on his own face.  
\- Why would I need this, Fingolfin's son? Have you thought about this? I can kill you now, and your body will remain here to rot in the woods. The Noldor will have to look for you for a long time ... and then they'll have to try to find an heir to their kings themselves.  
\- I think… - said Fingon, - I think you should be interested. I'm not your usual captive, not an ordinary Elf and not even an ordinary Noldo. I am the grandson of Finwë, and I am of the royal blood. My chosen one is also Finwe's grandson and the son of Fëanor, - he is my cousin. Wouldn't you wish to witness the birth of a grandson of Feanor and Fingolfin? Isn't it curious? Wouldn't you like to perform this experiment? My sister passed away, Fëanor had no daughters; another possibility is unlikely to present itself.  
\- I can now take you with me to Angband, and there I can study your body at leisure, - Gorthaur muttered. - I can do what you ask in there, and then ... mate you with someone. Perhaps, your chosen one, as you call him, will not refuse to come back to us and do what is necessary for me and you, and then I can easily observe the… consequences that must certainly be amusing, - in this you are right . The blood of Finwë and Fëanor, I guess, is indeed something special, Findecáno.  
\- It will not work out, my dear Gorthaur, - answered Fingon with an unexpected ease. - You know how fragile our souls are, how easy it is for them to part with the body. If you try to do this to me in Angband, then terror and agony will not let me bear the child - I will just die and that will be the end of it.  
\- Sometimes I wish all you Elves just die, you fragile Elvish souls. If only all of you could die at once and that will be the end of all this horrible mess, - Gorthaur snorted.  
Gorthaur, tightly pursing his thin lips, gazed intently at the fire; trembling inside, Fingon realized that his arguments worked, which he himself did not believe. After a few moments, the corners of Gorthaur’s mouth curved in a sly smile, his white face glowed and was no longer so pale, his eyes flashed with crimson flames, and his hair again began to flow in the air, almost pouring into the flames in the fireplace.  
\- At least we can try, my dear Findecáno, - said Gorthaur. - Besides, if I successfully accomplish this, we will have a _little_ secret, just between you and me, which I will always be pleased to keep.  
Sauron stood up; with a snap of his fingers, he made the flame in the fireplace rise high. The room was almost burning, the glass in the window darkened.  
\- Get undressed, - he said, - I'll see what can be done.

Fingon flushed to the roots of his hair with shame. He did not think about that in advance.  
\- But ... could you do without it?  
\- Yes, I can, - Gorthaur admitted. - Actually I can see and feel your body through clothes, but if I could touch you directly, it will be much easier.  
Fingon untied the laces on his trousers with trembling hands, then unbuttoned his shirt. He tried not to attend to his own fearful thoughts.  
“What am I doing, oh, what I'm doing ... He'll seize me now ... he will take me, naked, in an eternal imprisonment ... It may be worse that what happened to Maitimo... Nobody knows I am there, nobody will come to look for me ...  
How weak I am ... I am ready for death, but not for tortures ...”  
Finally, he managed to take off his shirt and put it on a chair. On his neck Fingon wore a thin silver chain with a ruby star pendant, Maedhros’ bridal gift. He grabbed the little star, as if seeking protection. Gorthaur quickly fingered his sides, hips, put hand on Fingon's abdomen and suddenly sharply sat him on a chair, touched him between the legs, once again passed his fingers all over his body and let him go. It lasted just a few moments.  
\- You can get dressed, - he said calmly. - I'll try to do it, but, Fingon, I can not promise success. I have never done exactly this before, and I actually would like to do it. One more thing. I suppose you do not want to lose the attributes of male sex completely and permanently?  
\- No ... No, of course, no ... it would be odd ... It would look strange ...  
\- I think the same. Then I will have to give you additional female organs, and that is quite challenging. Just turning you into a woman would probably be easier. In any case, Findecáno, I think it will hurt. It will hurt very much indeed. Are you ready for this?  
\- Yes, - answered the King.  
\- Well, come back in ten days.  
\- In ten days?  
\- Yes. I need to think it over... to have a look...


	3. Call me Mairon

Fingon was expecting this meeting with Gorthaur, as he would expect his own execution. The traitor was dead, but now he felt himself becoming one. He was cursing his own selfishness, his stupidity, his crazy, childish love for Maedhros, finally his sacrifice and his oath of faithfulness to him, and even the oath given to his father Fingolfin - everything that made him now to go into this rat-trap.  
But not to come to this appointment was impossible as well. If the fact that he had a talk with Sauron would somehow come out (he was sure that if he does not show up, the secret would come out) this will be the end of him as a King. Sauron had no reason to feel sorry for him.  
\- Why don’t you come in? - said the familiar voice from behind the door.  
"It's all over", Fingon thought and entered.  
In the room near the fireplace, there was something that looked as a narrow table, covered with a white cloth. Next to this table, to his horror, he saw a casket, where some medical instruments glittered ominously.  
\- Undress and lie down here. What are you waiting for? I've already seen you naked, it does not matter, - Sauron waved his hand, obviously displeased with Fingon’s hesitation.  
Behind him, the door closed, just like the last time.  
Then Sauron suddenly opened it. A cloud of raging blizzard burst into the warm air of the room. Fingon turned around. In three steps from the door he couldn’t even see a tree – so strong was the snowstorm.  
\- If you changed your mind, High King, you can leave now, - Sauron said. - I do not intend to keep you by force and I'm ready to forget everything you told me here.  
How much he wanted to escape!  
And then – for the rest of his life to regret about this incredible opportunity...  
He stepped forward and closed the door.  
Then he undressed himself and lay on his back.  
\- Drink this, - said Gorthaur. - It will relieve the pain, but not completely; you still have to endure it. I will try not to kill you. Still, I'm afraid that to the list of my so-called misdeeds will be added this one which was not planned by me.  
\- I'm ready, - said Fingon.  
\- That's important, - Gorthaur said suddenly. - Really important, Findecáno. The more you want it, the better it'll work out. Now I think that last time you were right when you told me about it: experiments on resisting specimens are not always ... interesting and seldom give a positive result.  
Sauron firmly tied his arms and legs to the corners of the table.  
\- It is necessary, - he explained. - If you will be unable to endure the pain and you'll move, it can ruin everything.  
Fingon squeezed his eyes shut and bit his lip, trying not to scream when Sauron fixed his body in the right position. The horror became almost unbearable when he opened his eyes again and saw in Sauron’s hand a thin silver instrument, then another, oddly shaped – in another hand.  
\- What will you do? - he asked after all.  
\- I will use my abilities, - said Gorthaur, - but alas, there is absolutely no way to do without cuts.  
When this first incision was made, Fingon felt almost no pain; the touch of Sauron’s dry, very hot hands caused rather a deep, mad fear than pain as such. But then the pain intensified: he felt blood under his back and on his legs, and never in his life did he need more courage to withstand this pain.  
\- S-sauron ... - Fingon turned to the Maia, not knowing what he was asking for.  
\- Call me Mairon, - he replied arrogantly. - The Amazing One. I do not like the name you’ve mentioned. Now keep quiet.  
Through the pain Fingon sensed Mairon's blazingly hot fingers, bathed in pulsating blood, somewhere deep in his own body. Fingon was overwhelmed with shame and despair, and at the same time, he suddenly sensed a hysterical feeling of joy, almost a euphoria. As if now he was living again through one of the most beautiful moments in his life, perhaps the moment when Maedhros kissed him for the first time, - not in memories, but in reality. It was a feeling of brilliance, beauty, warmth…  
Then Mairon raised his hand over him - the right one - and Findecáno thought that the air was changing strangely. The air between him and Mairon's eyes seemed to be filled with rotating, sparkling needles, - pink, blue, white, lilac, purple. These needles pierced his body, causing an outrageous, excruciating pain. He saw Mairon's lips moving: perhaps, in fact, for some time now he was making a sort of silent sound.  
Mairon opened his mouth and Findecáno heard him… singing? Words? Sounds? What was it? He only saw how every sound, like a wind that twists giant waves in the ocean, set the needles spinning, making blue and orange lights flash between them… or Fingon himself was in and out or consciousness and was just seeing things?.. The blood continued to pour, he felt it on his skin, on his spine. Something inside him was crackling, twisting, breaking, causing an insufferable pain. He could not endure and screamed. But he was not scared now: it could be a cry of happiness and relief.  
Fingon’s ears were ringing: he was almost out of his shattered consciousness, as if his soul was ready to part from the body...  
“No, you should not, - he addressed to himself, - not now, you must not leave your loved one ... not now”.  
Fingon felt a new, last clot of blood on his skin - and everything was over. He lay helpless: he was afraid to close his eyes and pass out. He really did not want to die.  
\- Well, you can call me Mairon, because I _am_ amazing! – the Maia laughed.

Fingon looked at his body covered with a sticky, gleaming film of blood, reflecting the light of golden eyes. He breathed out a sigh of relief; the pain gradually decreased. Mairon cleaned his bloody hands with pieces of damp cloth.  
\- Do not take it lightly, - Mairon said. - This is not an extra finger on the hand, not a burn and not even a hole in the skull. The reproductive organs may change your whole body. Your appearance, your habits, even your voice may change. Try to look after yourself if you do not want your people to notice. You’ve lost a lot of blood. - Mairon shook his head. - Drink this. And lie still.  
\- How did you do all this? - Fingon asked unexpectedly. - All the words you said ... You learned them from someone? - At the thought of Morgoth, the Elf froze with horror.  
\- No, no one taught me this, - Mairon replied. - And just in case, I do not do it for him, and, I believe, I do it without his knowledge.  
\- You told me then that you've never done this before, so how did you know what to say?  
\- It's a fascinating question, - Mairon agreed. - Words and images of the Music of the Ainur affected and may affect the Creation. Some of the Ainur remember more, some less; the ability to reproduce Words is also different in different Ainur. My abilities are enormous; others’... are much more limited.  
\- But the Eldar also sing the Songs of Power and in them, as far as I know, there are some Valarin words, the Words of Creation, - said the High King of Noldor. - It's unlikely that any of us Elves is capable of something like this.  
\- That's right, - Mairon agreed, - but, you see, for us, Ainur, they are all words of our native language. It would be much harder for an Elf to compose a song in a foreign language – in a language of Men, for example. And one more thing. You are one of the best singers among the Noldor, you have a beautiful voice, I’ve heard you singing, but do you consider yourself equal to Maglor?  
\- Of course, I do not.  
\- And why? – Mairon asked. – What can he do – and you can not?  
Findecáno pondered.  
\- Probably, it’s because Maglor ... has an inner fire of the singer. He can link the words ... put them together in such a way that they may have a deeper meaning ... a second meaning ... or the third, - Fingon said. - As if there are several petals or seeds in one word.  
\- Yes, - Mairon agreed. - And I have this ability in relation to the Primeval Words in the highest degree. So I was able to compose the words so that they did exactly what I wanted to do.  
"That’s why your master needs you so much," - Fingon thought.

He could not get up until the next morning; almost a day passed. Fingon began to worry that he would be sought. His head was still spinning. He again felt that blood was coming. Gorthaur took Fingon’s hand and suddenly cut it with one quick movement. It was a long, lacerated wound; Gorthaur held it, squeezed, whispering something and Fingon felt that it almost immediately began to heal.  
\- This wound will explain your weakness, pallor and loss of blood. When you are at home, you must lie in your bed for at least two more days. Moreover, for the time being, it is necessary to abstain from sexual intercourse. Come to me here in a month after you sleep with the father of a child.  
Fingon blushed.  
\- He'll be here in two weeks... - He immediately realized that Gorthaur ought not to know about the arrival of Maedhros and Maglor.  
\- How you will explain all this to him? - Gorthaur asked.  
\- No, - Fingon shook his head. - I will not. You know I can not tell him about this.  
\- That's right, - said Gorthaur, tapping his fingers on the table. - Those of you who have been in my laboratories are no longer the same. The Elves believe that the very sight of former captives brings misfortune. Many Noldor do not receive such people back home. - It seemed that the corners of his mouth curled up involuntarily, but he always had a perfect control over his expression. - Especially if I managed to do something special to their bodies. They say some forest Elves who managed to escape were burned alive by their friends and relatives. - Gorthaur gave the King a big smile, observing his instinctive, ridiculous motion: Fingon folded his palms, as if trying to cover up his nakedness (in fact, he was already dressed). - You should be careful with your friend. The children of Ilúvatar cease being sweethearts, relatives and lovers and transform into persecutors and murderers in the blink of an eye - faster than any werewolf I’ve ever created. I admit our Creator, who created _such_ intelligent beings, is in possession of more experience and greater art then I am.  
\- I understand, - said Fingon. - I have seen such transformations.  
He did not want to tell Mairon about his intimacy with his cousin, but he could no longer turn to anyone, and he wanted to decide somehow what to do next.  
\- He ... When he comes after a long break, - Fingon said again, - he is usually in a hurry. I hope I can deceive him.  
\- So you slept with him before, didn’t you?  
\- Why do you care? - answered Fingon angrily.  
\- I'll ask you one more time: did you sleep with him before and for how long it lasted? Did he have much experience?  
\- His experience was a cruel rape committed by your master! - Fingon almost screamed. - That's his experience – you filth!  
Mairon was silent, waiting for Fingon to catch his breath and pull himself together. He leaned back in his chair; Fingon thought his red-and-yellow eyes now shimmered with blue and white, like a flame in the very depths of a huge, hot hearth.  
\- Well, can you think of a rape that is _not_ cruel? - Mairon answered. - Come on, darling; show me how to do it. By the way, my master had killed me once, and I'm not complaining!  
\- Your master did not just ... take advantage of him. – Fingon said. - He deliberately assumed my shape to torment him. It's revolting! You have no right to talk about my ... my ...  
\- Did he take your shape? No, it was me who gave him your lovely appearance, my little darling! He, for your information, cannot assume _any_ shape since he stole those shining trinkets from your uncle Fëanor. All that you, mortals and Eldar, see in him – is a delusion created by me and no one else! Do you think he looked so majestic and creepy during the battle with your father because he wanted it? No, my dear, it’s because I wanted it! It's all my doing!  
Mairon looked away, gazing into the fire.  
\- And by the way, - he remarked, - I thought it was Maglor - well, okay. Maybe you will still let me ask you a question: how long have you been sleeping with Maedhros?  
\- Since he returned from his captivity, - Fingon answered honestly.  
\- You are too kind, - Gorthaur patted the fur trimming of Fingon’s sleeve with a laugh. - I believed after that he would tempt nobody, especially you, my virtuous Elf, - he said, emphasizing the word "my." - It turns out that from time to time you get in his bed for about ... mmmm ... four hundred years, and after he was with you, he had no one else apart from you?  
\- Yes, I am sure, - Fingon said reluctantly, - and before he became a captive, he was innocent.  
\- Then, Findecáno, I’ll tell you what. If you sleep with him, be very careful. He is a man, and he is a man who is used to you and your body for many, many years. And even if everything happens in complete darkness, he will notice that your body has changed.  
\- I will not let him touch me there ... - Fingon breathed out. - He will do as he is told.  
\- That's not the point, Findecáno. This may be a little direct, but when he will actually make it with you, he will in any case have other sensations. And it would be best if you dragged into your bed another man who does not know you at all. Do not make a wry face like that, it doesn’t suit you, - said Mairon. - I understand that you will not be able to do this, and that you started this all just to prevent anyone else from having you. Still try not to cause suspicion. Maybe you should to do it all very quickly, literally on the go. Or drink him under the table. And let me have look at you once again before you leave, I’d like to see how are you doing.  
This time the touch of Gorthaur's hands seemed especially repulsive to him, because now he felt in it a shadow, a ghost of the feeling that a lover could give him if he had let him to do what he could not allow in any case.  
\- You know what, - said Gortaur, - I'm not so sure you'll manage to get pregnant at all, even if you sleep with him. For all that I know, for pregnancy you, the Eldar, need a desire, and, apparently, the desire of both parents. In fact, I really would like to know whether it is so or not, but since all your marriages are voluntary, it is difficult to verify. Okay, come to me, as we have agreed, we will see what happens...


	4. The Worn Threads

The days and nights before the arrival of his cousins Fingon spent in fear and doubts. For some reason, he believed that this time Maedhros, perhaps, would not seek a tryst with him, since he, Fingon, was now the High King: at least to Fingon himself such an idea would have occurred. What if Gorthaur for some reason was assured that between him and Maedhros nothing would ever happen again, and that he, Fingon, would live on forever with this foul, wrong body, would live alone and in constant dread that some day somebody would find out.  
With a heavy heart, he remembered how the messengers of Manwë carried his father’s mortal remains off the battlefield, so that the enemy would not desecrate it. Could this mercy be shown to him? He was known as "Valiant", but he was a living being, struggling with fear. A few days after that meeting with Gorthaur, when the first shock and physical pain were over, he realized his situation and spent a sleepless night, curling up in the corner of his huge royal bed. He knew that if he was killed he would not feel or hear anything anymore. Still he imagined his enemies ripping off the precious armor and garments from his dead body and mocking his deformity; he imagined his subjects hastily getting rid of his ignoble remains – perhaps, throwing out his body, wrapped in a canvas, in a ditch among rotting garbage…

... When Maedhros got to one knee before him and kissed his hand, his heart started racing so fast that Fingon could not squeeze out a word, could not even look at him. More than anything ever, he wanted to fall into his arms, to sit on his knees right now, to put his legs and arms around him. Maedhros stood up. Fingon, almost without looking at him, stretched out his hand, touching Maedhros’s heavy crimson cloak and an enormous gold brooch on his shoulder, felt with his fingertips the links of his chain mail: the iron seemed burningly hot.  
Only after a few hours, when no one was around, Maedhros came to him. He came from behind, seized his elbow, then his hand went down and touched the scar on Fingon’s wrist, caressing the delicate skin and the veins. Fingon turned to him and realized that he could worry about anything, - except whether Maedhros wanted to be alone with him. Fingon was glad to feel these bright, hungry eyes on himself now, but at the same time, he felt like he never noticed this look before.  
There was neither time nor opportunity to leave the palace. Fingon brought him in a distant room with large, shuttered windows in a corner of a gallery. It was one of the summer drawing rooms, and now it was very cold and empty. After all, who cared now for the summer receptions…?  
\- Here we still can be seen, - Maedhros told him nervously.  
\- Do not worry, Nelyo, there's no one here, - Fingon said carelessly. - I missed you so much ...  
\- I also missed you terribly ... - Maedhros hugged him, and, holding him tightly, began to kiss him, sitting him on an old battered table by the window. Maedhros’s annoyance and weariness disappeared, as soon as stroked Fingon’s warm, tightly braided tresses. His hand, as usual, reached his cousin's waist to untie the laces.  
\- Nelyo, do not worry, I'll do everything myself, we have so little time ... – Fingon pushed his cousin’s hand away and pressed his lips to his, gently running his fingertips over his neck.  
He did not take any pleasure: neither in the touch of a loved one, nor in a new way of making love (although he secretly expected it). All he felt was cold and fear of being discovered. In addition, Fingon found out (Maedhros, as he had expected, was in a hurry and, fortunately, seemingly did not notice it) that he himself can no longer beсome excited and enjoy himself as a man. These were the very changes in his body that Mairon spoke about, and all his fears began to become justified. In the last moment, he heard distant steps in the hallway. Fingon was not sure if Maedhros could hear it: in any case, it was impossible to stop now. Fingon quickly, carefully adjusted Maedhros’s dress and said:  
\- You go first, if you meet someone, you can say you're lost.  
The cousin obeyed. Fingon remained alone in a dark room with boarded windows. Behind the thin shutters, the winter wind howled. He knew that his childhood dreams of a family of his own, of family love, tenderness, affection, of children would never come true. It has always been "not here" and "not now". Now, when the main obstacle seemed to be eliminated, the dream became even more impossible, because he could not tell his beloved about his new body, received from Gorthaur. Fingon admitted bitterly to himself that this, perhaps, was not enough. He was not sure if he was able to conceive a child this time: there was no confidence that it would be possible at all. Fingon had to try at least once more.

Fingon continued to pour him wine. He had never before seen Maedhros even slightly intoxicated (unlike Сelegorm or even Maglor), but now he got him dead drunk. Maedhros laid his head on the table. His hairpins - gold stars with ruby centrepieces - fell out, and his shining red locks spread over the tablecloth, lying on sticky spots and his greased plate, like rays of the setting sun.  
Finally, Fingon put his arm around his waist, lifting his heavy body with difficulty. Fingon's legs gave way because of effort and fear; Fingon was afraid to fall and hurt himself or his cousin.  
Fingon led him to his own room, rejecting Maglor’s help. He had to drag Maedhros up a low staircase: reluctantly, he remembered the terrible moment, when he dragged his beloved down from the rock where he was chained by Morgoth. "And now I myself became like that monster: I drag him to me to take from him what he does not want to give", Fingon thought with dismay.  
He closed the door behind him, steered his cousin to the bed and lit a candle. When he began to take off his boots, Maitimo awoke for a moment, said something meaningless and again fell asleep. Fingon undressed him and lay beside him. Despite the warmth of the body lying next to him, he felt cold and scared. He wanted to hold his beloved, to complain, to tell him what he went through, but he could not. Fingon sighed, put out the light, threw his leg awkwardly on Maedhros's thigh and began to caress him quickly and soberly. His goal was easy to achieve. “How… how soft you are”, Maedhros muttered in a half-sleep, - and their lips met for an instant.

In the morning, Maedhros’s angry voice awakened him.  
\- Finno! Wake up!  
\- Yes?  
\- Did you bring me to your sleeping room?  
\- Yes…  
\- What were you thinking about, dragging me into your bedroom in front of everybody!  
\- But I could not leave you to sleep at the table!..  
\- Why should I wake up in your royal bed? Why do you order me about? - He pulled his red hair from behind the collar of his shirt and pinned them up with the hairpins Fingon put on a table by the bed yesterday.  
The love for him devoured Fingon from inside, burned him from head to foot, just like yesterday, when Maedhros kissed his hand.  
At that moment, it seemed to him, that they both - he himself, naked, and his dressed lover - really looked obscene. Fingon could not force himself to stand up and start dressing in his presence; intellectually he knew that even if Maitimo saw him completely naked, he most likely would not be able to notice anything if he does not show it to him expressly. He squeezed his knees together and pulled on the blanket.  
Maedhros was already fully dressed and put on his boots.  
\- I mean… my room is closer to the main hall.  
\- So why did you made fool of me? – Maedhros said.  
Fingon restrained himself, trying not to be rude.  
\- Nelyo, forgive me, I have not seen you since ... - Fingon wanted to say, "since my father passed away," but decided that it would sound somehow too pathetic and reproachful. - I have not seen you for a long time, I thought that if ...  
\- Nelyo, are you there? – Maglor asked from behind the door.  
\- Yes, I'm here, and we are leaving now, - replied Maedhros.  
\- But I was hoping that you and Kano would stay at least until tomorrow, - Fingon said in a cheerless voice.  
\- You and I have discussed everything yesterday, and it's time for us to return to Himring. They are waiting for us there; you know very well what is happening now.  
\- I know, - Fingon said softly. - I know, I do not deserve my father’s throne, I am not worthy of my title; that is what you probably think. At least, I ... - he wanted to say, "I love you", but did not have time.  
\- For you, as for my king, I will do everything in my power. - Maitimo threw on his crimson cloak, which seemed especially bright in the light of the morning sun - and this sunlight was so joyful, warm and ordinary, as if there were no grief and death around. Seeing that Fingon was about to say something else, he abruptly dropped it:  
\- That’s all! - and left the room.  
\- Findecáno, listen, you ... shall we wait for you to see us off? - Maglor asked.  
\- No, I'm sorry, I have had too much to drink last night. I feel unwell.  
He turned away and looked at the wall. He lay biting his wrist, until he knew it is too late to stand up and come up with Maitimo, try to make it up with him...  
\- I'm still a king, - he thought.

The sleepless night after Maitimo's departure was the worst in his life. He could no longer comfort himself with dreams and memories of love, because love there was none: he acted coldly and rationally, arousing carnal desire in the one who loved him. Previously, he amused himself with the thought (now he realized that this thought gave him a sort of perverse pleasure) that their close relationship with Maedhros is a manifestation of the distortion, marring of the World, a reflection of the fact that the Enemy penetrated into their lives. Now he saw that the real darkness had entered his life only today, when he twice gave himself to Maedhros and it was calculation, not love.  
Their relationship was for him always something like a marvelous tapestry, like a wonderful, blue, white and gold window looking out on happiness, on their home. Now it was as if someone rubbed his face into the embroidery, and he saw worn silk threads and tiny beads instead of water, copper plaques instead of spots of light.  
He remembered the cold dark gallery, a dull lust in the gray eyes of his beloved, revived in his mind some of his gestures and touches, which in fact were not very pleasant for him, but which he did not pay attention to before, because they were part of the love - which now was not there. He had absolutely no one to talk to, just to say simply and without explanations that he feels so very bad. All his friends except one died, and the one who survived now was on an errand. The pain of losing his father returned. He was experiencing an illusion connected with any loss, that if his father were alive, it wouldn’t hurt so much: Fingolfin would have understood him, comforted him, would have found a way out. And he could not even go to his grave - his father was buried in Gondolin, far, far away ...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made some slight adjustments in this and further chapters to make this story to conform to the sequel.  
> ..."touched the scar on Fingon’s wrist" is a reference to one of my previous stories, "The Treatment" ("Моё лекарство"), where Fingon slit his wrists after falling out with Maedhros.


	5. White dress, amber and flowers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's mostly a flashback about Maedhros and Fingon's first kiss. I've rewritten the text slightly for the translation, combining two chapters and included a scene from the prequel.

Mairon did not even asked him to undress, - only ran his hand over his belly.  
\- Yes, you are with child, - he confirmed. – It’s fascinating that your wish proved to be sufficient. Very interesting.  
Fingon now for some reason comprehended that Mairon was wrong, but did not tell him that. Actually, he always knew this; he knew it for a long time. Maedhros desired it in his heart, too, he probably wished for it hopelessly every time when they were together, and this desire did not leave him even when he was half-asleep (Fingon was sure that the conception happened at night, in his bed).  
\- So I will have an heir...  
\- Yes, it's a boy; you do not have to worry about that. However, bear in mind that in the autumn the changes in your outward appearance will become visible. Simply put, the pregnancy will be showing, and you will have to do something about it.  
\- But how do you know it's a boy? - The king was surprised. - He is not born yet.  
\- Yes, but he's already a boy, - Mairon replied.  
\- But the baby is still there, inside, - Fingon blushed, - and only when it's born, it'll be a boy or a girl. Isn’t it?  
Mairon's expression was indescribable.  
\- Well… - he finally said. - I know that he is a boy, because I am a Maia. What would you call you son?  
The question was unexpected, but Fingon thought that the answer could not bring any damage to either the child or Maedhros.  
\- I will call him Artanáro, “Noble Fire”, - he replied.  
\- Oh, it’s so cheesy, - Gorthaur snorted. - Perhaps you, Noldor, can tell each other apart, but if you please, have a pity at least for the poor Sindar and Avari, not to mention Men. Artanáro, Artanis, Aracáno, Fëanáro, Findecáno, Canafinwë ...  
\- How do you suggest I should call him? – asked Fingon with resentment.  
\- You could call him Ereinion – “a Son of Kings”, for instance, - Gorthaur replied with a shrug. - It's Sindarin so everyone will understand, and it also reflects truth: after all, both his mother and father are kings. Anyway, do as you wish, why do I care?  
Fingon already opened the door, as Gorthaur said:  
\- Come on, wait a minute. Hold on. Lift up your shirt. Come on, come here. Lie down, if you please, I need to have a look at something else.  
Fortunately, this time it was not necessary to undress completely; Mairon fingered Fingon’s naked chest and abdomen with both hands, frowning more and more. Finally, he sat down in an armchair and said:  
\- Get dressed. I hate to admit I’ve missed something, but, alas, I did. Since you are not a Man, I presumed that you couldn’t have health conditions which may affect your pregnancy. Of course, as an Elf, you ought not to have health complaints, but you can sustain an injury, isn’t it? Well, this is the cut I’ve made, and the burn above the elbow is it after your encounter with the dragon…  
\- Yes, - answered Fingon.  
\- And what’s this? - Sauron pointed to his left arm. - Tell me where this is coming from.  
Fingon wondered what this conversation was about and why all this was important - his scars, burns and his right wrist he broke back in Valinor when he fell from his horse. Nevertheless, he enumerated everything he could remember.  
Then Mairon pressed two fingers to his side:  
\- Well, this is a fractured rib and what's under it?  
Fingon looked down.  
\- It's been a long time since ... - he finally said. - It's not even a wound. Just a bruise, I guess. A slight injury. It happened in Alqualondë.  
Then one of the Teleri grabbed a plank lying in the docks next to the ships and hit Fingon as hard as he could. The plank struck his stomach and his side. At that time, only few of them had armor, and most did not have time to put it on. Fingon wore a training armor for fencing - a thick quilted jacket; it softened the blow, but not much. He felt a terrible pain in his side and bent, panting. His younger brother Arakáno ran up and killed the enemy with his sword. The plank fell from the dead Teleri’s hands on Fingon’s leg, and now, remembering this, he almost felt that blow on his leg, like a recent pain, although it was a trifle compared to the first blow.  
\- It hurt much, isn’t it? How much and how long?  
\- Very much, - Fingon admitted. – For a few months. It was especially bad in the next two days, and then it hurt much less…  
Much less…  
He supported the others, when they slid on the ice, pulled out - or unsuccessfully tried to pull out - those who fell into cracks or air holes, carried little children. He fell asleep by the light of a stinking fire, in which they burned fins, bones and dried seaweed - and almost every movement brought pain...  
\- The rib, of course, is nothing, but the fact that an Elf did not die from a liver rupture and it healed naturally is very curious, - Mairon shook his head. - But if you will be in labour, the rupture may open again. The risk is too great, and I may be unable to save you. If you want, I can rid you of the child now. It’s almost painless. A few drops of blood – and that's all.  
\- No! I do not want to. - He did not trust Mairon, although, remembering everything that he experienced then, he understood that he could be right. Even if he was right, now Fingon has finally realized that he is ready to give life to his son even at the price of his own.  
\- Then think what will happen to the child if you die.  
\- I'll think about it, - Fingon said.  
\- And tell me what, - Mairon looked at him, smiling. - Here you are, fighting for your uncle and cousins. You get this atrocious blow, you almost die, you march for months feeling terrible pain (do not tell me tales about "much less", I see perfectly well what happened to you), you go through Helcaraxë. Here you are in Middle-earth - and the first thing you do is to find your cousin, and sleep with him. Don’t you think it’s odd?  
\- But then the pain was almost gone, - said Fingon honestly.  
Myron burst out laughing and even hid his face in his palms. Fingon haven’t seen him laughing so much yet.  
\- It's not odd at all. I love him. Why are you laughing?  
\- Well, I can’t sit here and cry about it. At least I’ll have a good laugh.  
On his way home, Fingon stopped under a great old pine. He tried once again to revive the happiest memory in his life: Nelyo’s first kiss.  
The bright room, the laughing twins Amrod and Amras, the weight of gold and stones in his hair (he liked to wear gold in his braids ever since)… The heavy sweet smell of flowers… and the dress. The dress he put on just for fun…  
The dress…  
Míriel’s dress, crisp, white, embroidered with amber droplets. The younger of the twins, the one who was dead now, buckled the belt; Fingon felt his hot palms on his sides.

The dress of Míriel, a woman who died in childbirth.

Maedhros remembered it well, too. His parents, Fëanor and Nerdanel, went to visit Nerdanel’s father. Maedhros was left in charge. Their cousins, Fingon and Angrod, came to visit that day. Angrod, as always, started to fight with Caranthir, and Caranthir who was, if not stronger, then at least angrier, knocked the cousin off his feet.  
\- I'll beat you anyway! - exclaimed Carnthir enthusiastically. - I have six brothers, they all will beat you!  
\- So what! - said Angrod. - I have a sister, Artanis! She is the most beautiful girl ever! And you do not have a sister, and never will!  
Carnthir was quite confused; and Angrod ran out the door, followed by the Caranthir. Maedhros thought it was necessary to break it up, but at that moment, Amras and Amrod ran to Fingon, who was sitting quietly on a trunk in the corner and dragged him to the middle of the room:  
\- Finno! Finno, will you be our sister? Do you want to be our sister? Don’t mind Artanis, you're still the most beautiful!  
Fingon was about to be offended, but the twins did not mean any offence. It was such fun! Fingon also began to smile; his face glowed with a sweet blush. Amras and Amrod started to comb his hair and braided them like a girl’s, weaving flowers, gold rings, jewels and ribbons into the tresses. Finally, they got even bolder, opened the chest and took out a royal white dress belonging to their grandmother Míriel, which she herself adorned with embroidery - dark and light scarlet threads and golden amber beads. With an unexpected carefulness, the boys put the garment on Fingon, smoothed the wrinkles, and began to turn him like a big doll before Maedhros.  
Perhaps Maedhros had to stop them, to say it was too much, that they should not behave like this. He probably should have laughed, but he only looked how Fingon blushed, how he lowered his long eyelashes, how his cheeks and ears turned pink, looked at his hollow chest in the cut of the dress.  
\- Will you marry our cousin? Will you, Maitimo? - The twins pushed them to each other, and closed their hands in a ring around them. Maedhros wanted, he really wanted to pull himself away, but Fingon looked at him with his gentle grey eyes from under his long eyelashes, and there was such a hope and a silent plea in them that in response to the excited shouts of his brothers he took Fingon’s hands and kissed his eyes and cheeks. With the twins circling around them and screaming, he kissed Fingon's warm cherry lips. To Maedhros’s horror, the feeling of lust that he had sensed before only in his dreams, appeared now in reality, and it was growing more and more.  
\- Enough is enough, - he forced himself to say to his younger brothers. - Let's take the dress off. Father will kill us if he finds out.  
Trying to suppress his excitement, Maitimo turned away and did not see the twins helping Fingon to change. Finally, Fingon poked him gently in the ribs and handed the dress; almost without looking at his cousin, Maitimo carefully folded it and put it back in the trunk. Fingon’s cheek went beet red, too, he flushed with shame and excitement – it made Maedhros even more ashamed of himself. Fortunately, Fëanor did not find out.  
Now, in Maedhros’s mind, Fingon’s rosy face again appeared in flowers, amber and rubies. Their lips were not yet touching, but he already felt the tenderness of the skin and the warmth of his cheek...

A few weeks before Maedhros kissed him, they met on a street in Tirion.  
Fingon stood on a small bridge. A tiny cloud floated above the city, and on the other side of the river, it rained; here, on the bridge the rain ended. The rain was permeated by the evening radiance of Laurelin - precious, rubicund, glowing. Fingon stretched out his hand and raised his fingers, sprinkled with pure rainwater, to his lips.  
He already knew that he loved his cousin. He always loved him, but now he grew up and a sincere, happy childish admiration (he recalled himself running to his tall cousin and snuggling up to him) was suddenly replaced by a distressing longing. Fingon understood that he could never love someone else. This feeling scared him. A secret life began for him, painful, but it was a life of his own: as if a door to some terrible forbidden room opened in his soul.  
At that very moment he saw Maedhros. His dark-red hair, very long then, below the waist, were down. He was dressed in a simple brown shirt, a wide leather belt and dark pants. In his hands he held a huge bouquet of some small white flowers. Fingon's heart sank at the sight of him - his tall figure, his broad shoulders, his thin waist, at the sight of the red locks curling around Maedhros's proud neck. He froze; It seemed to him that Maedhros could pass by and not see him. But he turned his head slightly, looked at him from under his long brown lashes and said:  
\- Are you waiting for me?  
\- No, but can I come with you?  
\- Finno, are you sure?  
\- Yes.  
\- Well, just do not tell the father that you went there with me.  
\- To my father or yours?  
\- Both, - answered Maedhros.  
Fingon almost guessed where Maedhros was going, but still wanted to be with him a little. They walked along the streets past stone walls, snow-white, with a rosy sheen, wreathed with heavy branches of mauve and lilac flowers. Then Maedhros turned into a narrow alley where the walls became brick red, then to another, even narrower, They’ve found himself in front of a low door, painted in a dark wine-red. Maedhros struck it twice with the palm of his hand; it opened.  
They entered; Fingon turned and saw that the door behind them was closed by a young man, looking like his own age, white-skinned and with white curls to the waist. The young man with a smile touched Findecáno's long dark hair, similar to his own, ran along his thin fingers with pearly pink nails. Fingon was startled, realizing that he was an Elf, not one of the children of Ilúvatar. Than he noticed that Madhros went far ahead and hurried after him.  
There were flowers all around, pink, white, lilac, even green. Unnatural smells - now volatile and ethereal, now heavy and carnal, similar to the smell of a living body and not all like a fragrance of plants. A few orange-pink leaves and lilac petals were entangled in Fingon’s hair.  
Finally, the labyrinth of leaves and flowers was over. There was a small clearing among the low trees with huge yellow leaves and white bark. On a gray stone bed lay a young girl in a silvery-black dress with long silvery-gray braids, adorned with threads of green malachite beads. She was not much older than Fingon himself. Maedhros knelt and put the flowers in her hands. Fingon approached. He knew, but he could not help but ask:  
\- Is she ... your father's mother?  
\- Yes, - Maedhros answered.  
Every day Fëanor sent here one of his children with a bouquet of flowers or came himself. Maedhros put the flowers in the hands of Míriel. The flowers sparkled, shimmering with emerald and scarlet sparks and began to melt, as if they were absorbed by waves of an invisible stream.  
Fingon wondered if such a sacrifice was worth anyone's life. Did she know that giving life to Fëanor she was killing herself? Of course, as a result, Maedhros was born - a son of Fëanor and a grandson of Míriel. However, Fingon knew that Maedhros was forever inaccessible for him. It did not matter if he existed or not. Maybe it would be better to love someone who never existed at all, who has never been born in this world or someone who has already died, than to suffer from an unrequited passion, constantly seeing his beloved and concealing his feelings. If it were possible at least to serve him ... or give his life for him – just like Míriel...  
He was still looking at her with fascination, when Maedhros said:  
\- I am leaving.  
He did not immediately follow him and was lost in the garden. The cousin was nowhere to be seen. Findecáno turned to an alley, which he thought led to the gate, but black branches with gray leaves continued to close over his head, and there was no way out. He was afraid. What if now he suddenly finds himself in the Halls of Mandos and will have to remain there forever, - just because now he thought, he did not want to live on?  
Suddenly an opening appeared before his eyes, and there was a meadow surrounded by dark pines and a stone bed, lilac-pink, with dark wine-colored veins. Fingon was scared, but the temptation to sit down and rest was too great. He felt a gentle hand grab him from the back by the elbow and sit him on the stone. He squeezed his eyes shut.  
\- What an odd little elf, - said a quiet voice. - Do you need something?  
Finyo opened his eyes and saw a young, half-childish face. The huge blue eyes looked at him curiously.  
\- Are you Irmo? - For some reason, Fingon knew it immediately.  
\- Yes, Findecáno. What do you want?  
\- N-nothing...  
\- You would not find me here, if you did not dream or be sad about something ... very much, - said Irmo.  
Fingon blushed and lowered his eyes.  
\- Can I ask you something?  
\- Of course.  
\- If ... if you love someone ... if I love someone who can never belong to me ... never, never ... is it very wrong?  
\- Do you love someone who loves someone else? - Irmo queried.  
\- I love the one who could never be mine... even if there were no "others", Fingon replied. - Never ever.  
\- May I?.. - asked Irmo. Without waiting for an answer, he put his long, narrow fingers in the strands of Fingon’s black hair. It seemed to Fingon that he was falling, gasping desperately, into an abyss full of flowers and stuffy odors. His heart was racing as if pushing all the blood out of the body. Heat filled his legs, arms, and chest. Now, after so many years, Fingon understood that at that moment, perhaps for the first time in his life, he wanted, really, really wanted exactly what Maedhros did to him later. He wanted to give himself to him.  
Irmo let him go.  
Around them, strange, white-silver flowers with a light aroma emerged through a carpet of pine needles. Irmo himself changed. His clothes were also permeated with these flowers, and Findecáno saw with amazement that Irmo’s skin seemed transparent and beneath it, a sea of luminous petals was blossoming. In his pearly white hair of Irmo, appeared some scarlet and copper streaks. Among the white flowers now there were ruby blossoms and berries. Fingon thought that Irmo seemed to mould himself in the image of Maedhros, - assuming not his body, but his soul, his inner beauty, - that which made Fingon to love him.  
\- What strange dreams do you have! Does a maiden’s soul live in your body? I was always wondered why you Elves, unlike us, were not given the opportunity to choose your bodies yourselves ... To be honest, I do not know what to think. I just do not know. Maybe this is a manifestation of the Marring of the World, - Irmo sighed. - We need to consider... probably, I may even have a few ideas about this ... but I’d better not.  
Irmo's silvery curls in heavy waves poured on the earth and boughs around him, disappearing in the lush pink petals of flowers.  
\- Go home, and do not be sad.  
When he was leaving, Irmo’s voice almost inaudibly whispered something that Fingon did not believe:  
\- He loves you, too.  
The one who opened the door for them asked Fingon:  
\- Do you feel relieved?  
\- No, - Fingon shook his head. It didn’t make things easier for him if even a Vala could not help him.  
\- I'm sorry, - the young man said and kissed his cheek. He gave Fingon a bunch of large yellow flowers on thin white stems. - Come again, if you want.  
\- No, - Fingon answered. - I can handle this.  
He went out the gate. Maedhros was waiting for him at the end of the street. Fingon hastened to him; The flowers disappeared in his hands in a cloud of golden and white sparks, and for some reason he indeed felt some relief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Irmo's image in this chapter was inspired by the amazing nanai-xl:  
> http://68.media.tumblr.com/a47c3439c0e49e257f78f921ddcf90e2/tumblr_nvn4ht5re41tkqja8o2_1280.jpg  
> Here are some of her works:  
> http://nanai-xl.tumblr.com/post/155581874581  
> http://nanai-xl.tumblr.com/tagged/irmo  
> 


	6. The Mourning

Following the advice of Mairon, Fingon gave up hunting and other hazardous pastimes. He declared that now, having become the High King instead of his father, he should not risk his life in vain. His apathy and lethargy were ascribed to his grief over the death of his father and to the scorching summer. Last few weeks the hostilities have ceased, but everyone had a feeling that something terrible was being prepared.  
Fingon tried to conduct himself as before, but he felt how his body slowly changed. The childbearing was taking away not only physical forces but also his mental strength: his mind, attention, and even vision became blunted.   
Especially unpleasant and embarrassing was the fact that he was hungry all the time. Of course, like all male Elves, Fingon knew how to cook, and often (despite his lofty status) he baked something for himself, since he always felt embarrassed to burden the palace servants with requests to cook food according to his tastes. Nevertheless, for the High King to go to the kitchen every day would be completely bizarre. More than once or twice, he carried a dish with a dozen pies or pears away to his room. He hoped that this should be enough until morning – but it always took just one bite to feel a gnawing hunger. His mind could not restrain his appetite and he devoured everything in an instant, and then collapsed onto his bed and fell asleep like a baby, without even washing off honey or juice from his hands and face.  
One morning, Fingon for the first time in many months came to the door of Fingolfin's bedroom. Holding the handle, he halted. It was a very strange feeling: not at all like the fits of dizziness and weakness that came to him more and more often. Then he suddenly realized what it was - and involuntarily, although he tried to avoid all such gestures all this time - he put his hand on his belly. It was the presence of the child. It moved slightly - and now Fingon realized that his hopes had not come true.   
Until now, he did not admit to himself that he really wanted it, but in fact, he passionately dreamed of giving life to his father again, to cuddle and hug him as his own baby. He wanted the little Nolofinwë to have a father (of course, the child must call Fingon his _father_ ), who would belong to him alone. The greatest dream of his childhood and youth was a Fingolfin who would not have to suffer from his brother’s jealousy.   
At that moment, pressing his forehead against the door, he rebuked himself for selfishness: did he really want that Fingolfin, who died in agony, should return here, into this nightmare? His son was someone else, completely unfamiliar, and his presence now caused to Fingon something of an embarrassment. Fingon felt rather uncomfortable at the thought that this stranger (it seemed to him that he was someone very much like Fingon’s mother, the demanding and reserved Anairë), shared his sleepy stupor and bouts of gluttony.  
Returning to his apartments, Fingon was delighted to find a lunch tray on his desk. A week ago, some kind-hearted royal servant probably noticed that his (or her) king, bored and distressed, often entertained himself with food. Now Fingon was treated to five or six meals a day. After eating, Fingon again felt sleepy and started to unplait his hair and take off the gold ribbons and jewelry.  
For the first time, Fingon was horrified to see his hair clinging to ribbons and hairpins, falling out in strands. Taking out the ribbons and ornaments, he plaited his hair again in one braid, which, it seemed to him, was twice thinner than half a year ago. After some deliberation, he cut off the braid in the middle. The end was not a hand, as before, but only a finger thick. He fell asleep. 

Maedhros woke up in the forest, in a tent, bleary and frost-bitten. The icy mountain rain pounded on the oiled cloth of their tent. Out of habit, he started to think about the one he loved. He mentally embraced Findecáno, imagined himself hugging him, and imagined him sitting on his knees or waking up under the same blanket: it always made him feel warmer.   
Now he had nothing warm to remember. The quick caresses in the cold empty room, the morning in the royal bed, his anger ... Findecáno's face went though his mind – he was pressing the blanket to his chest, strangely confused, wretched, and guilty. Only now, Maedhros recalled how shy he was. Then, jumping out of bed and starting to dress, he did not give Fingon a possibility to get up and follow him.  
The night before, he and Maglor were sitting by the fire, and Maglor replied to something he said:  
\- We need to talk it over with Finno ... Fingon. We left Hithlum too hastily last January.  
\- Why should I talk it over with him? I'm not his retainer. I'll never let him order me about, - said Maitimo irritably.  
\- What do you mean by “ordering about”? Do you really think so?  
\- Well, to begin with, I'm much older than him, and Findecáno still is not ...  
Maglor looked at him thoughtfully and took his hand, gently stopping. In such cases, everyone obeyed Maglor without demur: even a completely enraged Caranthir became redder and was ready to sink through the floor. On him, the eldest brother, it acted the same.  
\- Findecáno is not Uncle Nolofinwë? Nelyo, you have rejected our father's birthright forever and handed it to Uncle Nolo. Yes, we still have our possessions, our castles and retainers, but only Findecáno, our cousin and his eldest son, can be our High king. Now we, you, and I, have as much right to the crown as Barahir or your Easterling friend, Bór. Do you really think that because Fingon became our king, his attitude to any of us changed and he became haughty and arrogant?   
Maedhros did not answer him. Maglor let go of his hand.  
Maedhros hoped that this conversation was over, but Maglor sighed deeply and said:  
\- Look, I ... I do not understand why did you hurt his feelings so much. Even if you think that he has done you something wrong, he is now worse off than all of us. After all, your friendship ...  
\- What do you know about our relationship? Do you _know_?   
Maedhros was ready to hit himself. No fatigue, fear, despair could justify these stupid, indecent words. It was good, at least, that he said this only to Maglor.  
\- Nelyo, - Maglor lowered his eyes, - of course, I already had some thoughts before ... but to be honest, I finally understood everything only when I heard from behind the door you shouting at him about "waking up in your bed". You probably think I am a fool. It's none of my business. Of course. You know, when we were leaving, I wanted to tell you that we should return ... that you can not leave like this, you should at least try to make up with him until it’s too late. These days you never know ... Every time I wanted to tell you… to tell our father, "it is impossible, wait, stop it" - I thought it was not my business and you know better. I admit, you've had the courage to do it a few times in your life; I had never.  
Maglor stood up, walked away a few steps, then said:  
\- How awfully cold it is ... - He sat down next to his brother and stretched out his thin and strong fingers, callused from harp strings and bowstrings, almost into the very fire.  
\- How far did it go? – Maglor asked. The flame touched his long white nails; Maglor’s hands slightly shined through. Maedhros thought he smelled burning fur on the sleeves of his jacket.  
\- He ... - Maedhros touched his neck nervously, fingering the thin, almost invisible silver chain. - It's ... he has… he wears my wedding necklace. We chose each other.  
\- Finno was ready to go as far as this to comfort you? - Maglor asked. His words were not meant as an offence: he just knew.  
\- Yes, - answered Maedhros.

At home, in Himring, Maitimo recalled that conversation and the words of his brother. He and Maglor did not return to the subject, but every day regrets became more bitter. Those two days in the palace he did not say to Fingon a single kind word, did not take pity of him, did not console him ... And he ended by being rude about the fact that Fingon helped him, drunk, to go to bed.  
Now Maedhros wanted to return at all costs, ask for forgiveness, and talk with Fingon at least for a few minutes.   
In his relationship with Findecáno, jealousy took a big part. Jealousy was mixed with the desire not to show anyone the nature of their relationship. Both of these feelings were already born at home, in Valinor, but then they did not burn in his soul as desperately as here, especially after they’ve exchanged necklaces and marriage vows.   
The most disgraceful and shameful feeling that Maedhros ever experienced was his joy when he found out that Arakáno had died and remained forever in the ice of Helkaraxë. He felt this twice: when he first heard about it and another time, the first time with Finno, when, kissing his wet cheeks, trying to catch his breath, he was glad that his lover no longer had his dear friend and brother at his side. Fingon had no one to console, no one to serve as a go-between between him and Maedhros, so that they would again become friends (just _friends_ , of course). There was no one to help Fingon out of the desperation that made him give himself completely and irrevocably to his beloved.  
The very thought of Fingolfin made him insanely jealous. But at least, he did not have to worry that Fingon could reveal to his father his relationship with the cousin. He did not believe that Fingolfin would ever learn of their physical relations. Perhaps, Maedhros thought now, it explained his own cruel behaviour. Yes, Fingon was the only one he had ever truly loved. At the same time, he always knew that in fact, for Fingon, he was always the second best. He knew how blindly and obsessively Fingon loved his father. And when he and Fingon met after Fingolfin’s passing, he might just be afraid that a dead Fingolfin would be even more important for Fingon than a living one.

On his way, Maedhros learned that Fingon had left the palace a few weeks ago, in the end of summer. He answered all the questions by repeating:   
\- I have the right to mourn my father.  
Yes (Fingon answered his friends), he wanted to leave. No, he did not want to take anyone with him. No, he was not going to return in a week, in a month, in two months – it could be four months or more. Yes, he wanted to be alone.  
Holding the reins of the horse now, again on the mountain road, Maedhros looked west, through a shroud of rain, into wet yellow forests and valleys, still green.  
Somewhere out there was Fingon, who was dearer to Maedhros than anyone else was, mourning the one who was the dearest to him, to Fingon.


	7. The Sickness

Fingon leaned over a brook, covered by translucent ice, cupping his hands, scooped up some chilly water from an air hole, swallowed, walked away, and grabbed a tree.  
It did not help.  
He fell to his knees and began to vomit violently; he was throwing up the pieces of food that was so hard to get. Maybe he had to confide to someone (Artanis, perhaps?..) and ask him or her to bring food to him. But Fingon was too proud; It seemed to him that if he even hinted to someone that he would be unable to feed himself, his friends would have suspicions.  
Another vomiting spell turned him inside out; then came another one, but now his stomach was already empty. Fingon walked a few steps and collapsed into the snow.  
Fingon recalled how he held his newborn niece, his brother’s daughter in his arms, how tiny the child was. He assumed that for him, a small but hardy Elf-man, a child would not be a burden at all. How wrong he was!  
It was an uncanny feeling of complete and desperate disability: weakness, dizziness, new urges for vomiting; his heavy belly bent him to the ground. Fingon started crying for the first time in a year and a half since he had lost his father. He wanted to lie down here and sleep, perhaps forever, but he could not betray the helpless child, locked inside him. If he does not now muster his forces and find more food, the child will be starving. He wanted to hit himself in the face, but, he thought with bitter irony, how can you hit a pregnant woman? What a shame... He felt the child kicking gently. Fingon put his hands on his belly, as if hugging the baby - "Wait, wait, I am going ...".  
He forced himself to take his bow and arrows and go.

On that day, he was lucky and he (or rather, he and the child) fell asleep relatively well fed. The snow completely covered the poles and cloth, with which he covered a rock canopy near the river, turning it into a small shelter made half of snow, half of stone. Fingon huddled in the corner and tried to wrap himself more tightly in his two cloaks. Now he felt almost comfortable. The fire was extinguished, but the coals were still warm.  
His eyes opened suddenly - the frosty cold, the pearly light of the jealous moon. Between him and the moon, the exit from the cave was closed, as Fingon thought sleepily, by a shimmering shadow cloud. Was it a dream? He turned to the wall - and a terrible frost swept his body from head to feet: the cold was in the eyes, in the nose, in the spine. He put his hands on his belly in horror, trying to protect the child. His heart stopped, he thought he was going to freeze to death.  
"Findecáno ..." – A soundless voice came from nowhere. – “Findecáno ... the little king who is waiting for an heir ... Lift your dress; show me what's between your legs... Show me, I'm just curious... Little elf, let me inside... I'll go to bed with you... Perhaps, all I ever wanted was such a stupid pregnant creature lying next to me...”  
Something clapped like a banner in a strong wind. The wind burst into Fingon’s refuge and the horrible voice vanished.  
Fingon felt himself a discarded dry splinter on the ice, a dried-up blade of grass left for the winter under snow. He got up and looked out. There was a black forest, snow and a huge sky with large stars. He felt so small and for the first time the sky was for him a strange and distant abyss...  
Then he felt the child again; first a movement, and then warmth, and then a wave of love and appreciation surged into his mind. He felt the little grandson of Fëanor trying to warm him from the inside.  
Now it really was a child of his own.

The next morning he looked out and with great surprise saw on the stone near the exit from his shelter three large red apples and some dried plums and cherries, as well as a few slices of dried meat. Fingon did not dare to go outside and only looked around, sticking his head out from under the cloth.  
\- May I help you? - He heard a female voice.  
He suddenly saw that under a large old spruce stood a girl. Apparently, she was there, hiding in the low spruce branches, for a long time already - she simply knew how to be invisible. The girl was looking at him with apparent curiosity. It was an Elf-girl, seemingly very young. She wore a fur jacket and kind of a leather skirt over a gray homespun dress, embroidered with red threads. She had long black braids, like Fingon himself, plaited with gold and red strings, ornamented with half-precious stones of different colors – blue, green and amber.  
\- Are you watching me? - Fingon asked.  
The girl was speaking some strange dialect of Sindarin, which he had never heard before.  
\- I have not seen you before. I saw your footprints; I’ve noticed you going out to get food. You did not come out for the last three days. I’ve started to worry; I’ve thought you might be hungry. Is it so?  
\- Well ... maybe ... maybe I would have ...  
"Three days," - he thought with horror. - "I have to eat something now, but is it safe to eat what she offers?"  
The girl came closer, bent down and rather unceremoniously, but very good-naturedly pulled him by his thin braid.  
\- Are you a girl? - She asked (in her odd language, "girl" sounded not like _gwen_ , and not like _wendë_ \- she said _wenede_ ). - You look more like a man.  
\- I am the king of this land, my lady, - Fingon replied politely, and immediately realized: "What am I saying? What if she saw me?”  
\- Really? Why do you carry a child in your womb then? - She asked in surprise. - I've never seen anything like this.  
Fingon blushed and was about to deny with indignation ... but she was telling the truth, and he himself did not know how to lie. Then he asked:  
\- What makes you think that?  
\- I can see it in your eyes, - she answered. - I always see such things. And it’s visible in your footprints. Your gait. Who did this to you?  
\- It’s because I wanted to, - said Fingon.  
\- I saw strange things happen to Elves who were there, in _his_ fortress in the North, - she shook her head. - But you're not possessed with their black charms. I can see it in your eyes, too.  
\- And where are you from? - Fingon asked.  
\- I used to live in the far North myself ... Now everything is burned out there. Nothing left. I came here.  
\- Are you alone ... do you have a family?  
\- No, there is no one left. - The girl lowered her eyes and sat on a rock. - I had a husband, but a wolf killed him. It was about ten years ago. A giant black wolf, bigger than our house. I could not do anything. Then my house was burned down in a flash. I barely escaped. Here, too, all sorts of evil creatures may wander and fly, but here you can live. Do you want me to bring more food to you?  
\- Can you promise not to tell anyone about me? - Fingon asked.  
\- Of course, I'll never tell anyone, - she replied.  
Fingon was so hungry that he ate in an instant everything she brought; he swallowed an apple with seeds in two bites. In the evening, she came again; besides dried berries and meat, she brought something like a soup, which she cooked in a vessel made from birch-bark.  
\- What is your name? - Fingon asked.  
\- I do not have any particular name. My husband always called me simply "my wife". - She shrugged. - And you?  
\- I'm Cáno. - For some reason, Fingon called himself the second half of the name.  
\- "Chieftain", a beautiful name. - She smiled. - And what are the names of others in your family?  
As much as he told this strange girl in these weeks, Fingon never told anyone. She listened attentively, and he liked all her questions and comments. Speaking about himself, his life and feelings, he for the first time in his life never felt any obstacles; there was no danger of estrangement. He was sure that there would be no misunderstandings, that she would not judge or blame him. He still had to call her somehow, and, remembering the first day when she brought him dried cherries, he began to call her "Piukka" or "Pio" - a Quenya word for berry, - first to himself, then aloud.  
One morning he had to tell her that it was time for him to leave.  
\- Are you leaving? - she sighed. - I can help you when you’ll be in labor. I had my own children and I’ve already helped a Noldorin girl once… First labor is so scary, I know – I remember how it was with my own son.  
\- I have no choice, Pio, - said Fingon. - It could be worse if I would not come… And… Did you have a son? - Fingon asked in surprise. She looked so young!  
\- Yes, but he passed away, too, - she answered quietly. – Don’t be sad about it, Cáno. At least, I haven’t seen him die.  
\- I must go... – he said after a long silence, - to the one to whom I owe this opportunity. The opportunity to give birth to my child.  
\- Do not trust him, - Pio said. - Please be very careful around him. He is not as evil as his master is, but he has many ideas in his mind. I wish you all the best.  
She kissed him on the forehead and stroked his hair.

Alas, he planned his trip to the place where he was supposed to meet Mairon, counting on his strong, healthy body. Now he realized that the way would take not one and a half or two days, but, perhaps, a week. He hoped that he had calculated the time correctly, did not lose count of days and months - but he could have made a mistake. There were a few days when sickness and nausea tormented him so much that he lay in his shelter, looking into the endless shroud of snow and fell into oblivion, losing track of time.  
Barely holding on his trembling knees, he pressed himself against a tree. Now he felt that the delivery was coming. He was wiped out by fatigue and fear.  
For a moment, the sun blinded him, flashing in the snow-covered branches. And suddenly in his mind he heard a voice:  
_Do not be afraid, I am coming_.  
A few seconds later, he was picked up by strong hands and lifted into the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've cut out the flashback about meeting of Fingon and Maedhros after Fingon killed the dragon because it was unnecessary from the start and I do not like it.


	8. The Battle Cry

As soon as he stepped on the threshold of the little house, he really felt an extreme pain. Doubling up, he collapsed to the floor. He had to suffer through wounds and burns in battles, survive what Mairon did to his body a year ago, but he could not even imagine such a terrible agony, that engulfed and swallowed him. Mairon did not even ask his permission: he tore off his clothes and laid him on a table covered with white cloth and blankets.  
Fingon closed his eyes so as not to see his own body. He was dying from pain and shame. He felt a strange nausea: it was not even physical - it seemed to him that all his life and mind were a clot of bloody vomit, which he would cough up with the next spasm of pain – and die.  
\- Open your eyes! Open your eyes and look at me! I tell you, look at me! – From under his half-closed long eyelashes, Fingon saw Mairon’s white-hot flaming face, the yellow irises of his eyes, and his huge black pupils that reflected the flames in the hearth.  
\- I can not ... Thû, I'm dying ... - He grabbed a hot, dry hand that had touched him.  
His whole being was splitting. The room and everything around him flared up before his eyes in a series of separate, convulsive flashes, blurring in iridescent, green and black spots.  
Mairon slapped him in the face. Then another time. And another.  
\- Listen to me, you idiot! If you die now, what will happen to your child? Am I supposed to take the child to his father with a note: “Hi, it's probably your son, and your cousin Findecáno died in childbirth”? Shall I take your dead body to him as well? Or to your brother? How? You must get out of here alive, do you understand? At least try to help your son to survive!  
Findecáno felt the child trying to leave his body. He nearly passed out from unbearable pain.  
\- Do not hold back! – Mairon exclaimed. - Scream!  
Fingon opened his eyes and looked at Mairon.  
\- I'm still a king. Even now. You will not hear a sound from me.  
\- Listen to me again, my brave Findecáno: these are labor pains. Everyone screams. Literally everyone. I would, for that matter. Even if your subjects find out that you gave birth to Maedhros’s child, they will not be interested whether you were screaming in the process or not. It’s so common.  
Fingon closed his eyes.  
He again felt his soul drifting away into a white fog. His chest was burning and ripping up from inside, holding a silent cry. In his mind, he still was looking at the low ceiling of the room where he was, and it seemed to him that the supporting beams above him were going higher and higher, up and up, as it was in the tower hall in the palace of his grandfather Finwë in Formenos. There were more and more levels, and he was ready to fly up these beams, up and up…  
Another slap brought him back to reality. The ceiling, on which the scarlet and black shadows wavered, seemed to fall on him. A new wave of pain flooded his body. He tried to get up and started to scream desperately. He felt his blood running out in torrents and he could do nothing - just scream. He did not believe that he could survive it: it would be a shameful and terrible death.  
And then he felt for the last time the warm presence of his son in his body. Fingon even thought that he heard the beating of his loving heart. He never thought he would feel something like this: now he did not want it to end, he did not want the delivery, he wanted the torment to continue just to make the child stay inside him for more. Tears streamed down his cheeks.  
He knew now that there was no other choice: he should help his son to see the light of day; he must follow Mairon's instructions. Mairon helped him; Fingon was so grateful. He screamed again, although he began to get used to the pain.  
\- Now! Now! - Mairon shouted at him, hitting the table. - Come on!  
This time he consciously helped himself with a scream. Now he knew that this cry was necessary: it was not weakness; it vas not a victory of the pain and humiliation over him. It was like a battle cry. His body was all covered in blood and tears.  
And then he heard the baby cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've used Thû as a name for Sauron in this chapter. It's Sindarin and I am not sure if Fingon himself would actually use it.


	9. Rings and Stars

For a short moment, Findecáno saw the tiny body of his child, reached for it, touched. Then Mairon took the baby in his arms and carried him to a high table by the hearth, where he had prepared clean blankets and water. Fingon would like to wash his own blood from the body of the child himself, but he realized that he was unable to do it himself now. He saw Mairon’s long palms and fingers; after finishing with washing, he swaddled the baby. His strong palms were almost as long as the child’s body. Fingon became anxious; he said:   
\- Mairon, show me the baby.  
There was no answer.  
\- Mairon, give it to me, please, I want to look at him.  
There was a silence again, then:   
\- You've already seen him.  
\- I want to hold my son.   
Still no reply.   
Fingon demanded:   
\- Give it to me.  
Mairon took off with his wet hands a black kerchief, with which his head was tied; his heavy red hair scattered on his shoulders. Fingon saw large wet spots of blood on his black clothes. Mairon reached for the clay goblet on the table and began to take out of it his rings. There were all sorts of rings - with yellow diamonds, rubies, garnets and carved onyxes. He put them on his fingers, including some small and thin he wore on the second, not on the third finger bone, as it was usual.   
Than he again took the child who made a small sound.  
\- Give me my son, - Findecáno said. - I need to look at him.  
\- Look, - said Mairon. - You will not see him again.  
For a few moments, Findecáno's heart stopped.  
\- Why? - he asked.  
\- It’s so fascinating. I want to see him growing up. Or perhaps ... - Mairon paused.  
\- Give him back to me! – Fingon shouted, trying to get up, but his feet would not move.  
Mairon put on his heavy black, fur-lined cloak and the child almost disappeared beneath it. Even at that moment, Fingon was grateful to him. He knew that Maia himself actually did not need any protection from cold: he put on a cloak only to keep the child warm. It meant that at least for some time he was intending to keep his little Artánaro alive.  
\- Please ... give him to me ... you do not need him ...   
Fingon could not even cry; he was not able to feel anything. His thoughts were racing so desperately that, fortunately, he could not even fully apprehend what was happening.  
\- How do you know what I need?  
\- Give my son back, Mairon! I ask ... I beg you ... I'll do anything for you... whatever you want ... – Fingon’s gaze was fixed on the long fingers, stiff as stone, that held his child. - Mairon ... I am ready to break my promise to repay you only by what belongs to me personally ... I am ready to give you anything, I will open to you the gates of any fortress, I will give you any of my subjects, - and alas, mentally he said "including Maedhros". - Just let me take my son and go...! Please…  
Mairon put the child on the table again. In the light of the flames, the diamonds on his hands sparkled so bright that they have encircled the newborn child in a shining stellar halo.   
Then he went to Fingon and looked at him.  
\- I ... I would do everything for you ...  
\- And what do you think I want? - Fingon felt the touch of dry fingers and the warm metal of the rings on his blood-stained skin.  
\- I am still bleeding now ... but otherwise - anything ... perhaps, later… Mairon, I'm begging you ...   
Fingon’s hands compressed the bedspreads helplessly, squeezing out blood and liquids.  
Mairon leaned over him; it seemed he wanted to wash the ends of his golden-red hair in his blood.   
Fingon kept his eyes on him when he returned to the child and took it into his own hands again. Everything seemed so outlandish that for a moment, Fingon forgot what it was that he was seeing - so beautiful was Mairon: the sharp, delicate features of his wax-white face, his fiery yellow eyes, his sparkling, warm coppery locks, his iridescent fingers, gently holding the boy.  
Fingon did not know why he said what he said, but his words – his stupid, absurd words - broke this unearthly vision.  
\- If you're so clever, why did not you do the same for yourself?


	10. My Starlight

The fire in the hearth died in an instant, as if water had been poured onto it. The light went out completely: there was total darkness around. Then next to Fingon, on a shelf, a small blue fire flashed a clay bowl of animal fat. The room became very cold.  
Mairon threw his fur cloak on Fingon with one movement of his left hand, then came to him and put the tiny bundle in Fingon’s wet, trembling hands, without saying a word.  
Fingon, quivering, wrapped the child tightly in the fur blanket. He looked fervently at the baby's tiny face - who could know how much time Mairon gave them? Perhaps this is the last moment. He silently kissed his son in the forehead. Fingon felt that Mairon was looking at him, but could not look back. Both were silent. A few minutes later the fat in the bowl burned out, and it became dark again.  
Mairon opened the window. It was night, but it seemed that the stars shone brighter than usual.  
Mairon looked at the sky - for a moment, Fingon did not believe that it indeed was him. His appearance changed in an unexplainable way, glowing with a soft pearly white light; his face seemed suddenly very young; soft waves of very light, almost rosy hair fell on his shoulders and back.  
\- I can not, Findecáno, - Mairon finally answered his question. - If I try, I will not live. I can not ... I can not ... If there is really no way to... - He seemed to speak to someone else, looking out the window. - All this leads nowhere, to nothing... It’s useless.  
Fingon’s body burned with happiness; now he understood, he felt that Mairon would release him and the child. He kissed his son again and whispered in his ear:  
\- My Gil-Galad ... my "Starlight" ... I give you your mother name, my son ...

When he lifted his joyful, radiant eyes, Mairon stood before him in the guise he was accustomed to. The fire was burning again in the hearth, shimmering on black and red crystals on the collar and shoulders of Mairon's dress.  
\- Rest for now. Then I'll wash you and take you home. Tomorrow afternoon. Put the child here for now. - Mairon moved the table to the bed. - You can crush him in a sleep. Do not look at me that way, I will not touch him. Silly you, how you can call yourself a Noldo?  
Fingon ran his hand over his chest; it ached. Embarrassed, he asked Mairon:  
\- Shall I try to feed him?  
\- I think you cannot; I did not do anything special in order to ensure this. And if your body is indeed ready for this, and you start, it will be very difficult for you to give up feeding. The child can wait until tomorrow. At home, you will find someone who can feed him.

***

Emeldir fed Gil-Galad from a bottle. It was the High King’s wish - no wet nurse. Poor baby.  
When several months ago she succeeded in bringing some of her people under the protection of the High King of Fingon to Dor-Lómin, the king invited her to the court. Even then she was shocked by his appearance: a sleepy, wandering gaze, pallor, swollen hands. She thought how terrible it was for him to lose his father, who cared for him for more than four hundred years - it was hard for her to imagine this. Mentally, she prepared for the worst and decided that the king was dying of grief. When he announced his decision to leave, it only confirmed her guess. She did not know exactly how the Elves died on their own (if not from weapons or fire), but she thought that Fingon would not want to see anyone in his dreadful last hours.  
When the king suddenly appeared in front of her on a snow-covered path, he told her that the child in his arms was his heir, his name was Ereinion, his Quenya name was Artanáro; his mother name, _amilessë_ , was Gil-Galad, and his mother was no more. He had only his father - the High king of Noldor. The wife of Barahir realized that Fingon would never tell more to her or to anyone else.  
She was not surprised that Fingon stayed in his room for several days. She was the only one whom he allowed to feed the child and help the father to wash and swaddle the baby. While Emeldir herself was not upstairs, she would not let anyone in - even to come near the staircase that led to Fingon's room. She knew he was crying for hours, holding the baby in his arms, sitting by the window and looking at the lake.

An Elven nanny was hired for Gil-Galad after a couple of weeks.  
Emeldir was surprised that the prince’s nanny was an Avari girl. Many Noldor ladies, and women from the royal kindreds of the Men would desire such an honor for themselves. Probably, so there was less envy.  
Noldor often looked like each other - tall, thin, grey-eyed, dark-haired; so were many Avari, and the certain resemblance between the son of Fingon and his nanny seemed natural. Now, when Piucca and Emeldir put the baby to sleep, the woman thought that the similarity between the young Elf-girl and the King’s son was too great. She did not know how to ask, but, finally, she put it as straight as she could.  
\- Look, how could you abandon your child to make him king? I can understand this, but how ... He will never call you his mother. Can he respect you?  
Piucca rose abruptly and turned to her. She spoke softly so as not to wake Gil-Galad, but she was livid, and her eyes burned with such fury as Fingolfin’s before a battle. Emeldir recoiled.  
\- How can you say that? We do not abandon our children. Never. No matter what. They can leave us, go away ... it happens, but to give up a child... no, never! I can swear to you by my husband's memory that I did not give birth to this child.  
\- But you do know something about this, do you? Did you ... see how he was born? - Emeldir thought that Piucca could be a sister or some kind of relative of the real mother of Gil-Galad.  
\- It's not something that you or anyone else should know, - Pio said. - I saw his mother pregnant, that's all. And you, woman, could show some respect to Cáno if you call him your king.  
She settled down and added:  
\- He is not my king, but I would not try to find out about him if I were in your place.  
\- But ... - Emeldir could honestly say "but I am curioius”, but she did not. Instead, she said something else, which she also often thought about. - Will not his mother show up? Can she come and take her child away?  
Piucca shook her head.  
\- She will not show up. And Cáno will not give the baby to anyone. Never. And if you want to know my opinion, I will not judge Cáno or Nolofinwë his father for their desire to have an heir, but I would not do that, that's all. About Cáno - he didn't do anything wrong to anyone: only to himself.

Emeldir suspected something like... like what? She did not want to know; only felt that something terrible had happened, something that no one in the world has to know.

There were no news from Fingon for several months. The last thing that Maedhros heard about him was that the High King of the Noldor left his palace to mourn his father. Maedhros, looking out of the window, threw on one side his heavy red locks; despite the cold, his neck felt hot.  
Their last meetings with Findecáno were so fast and painful. They remained allies and friends, but now it seemed to him that when he closed the door behind him, saying: "That’s all!", this _all_ ended their relationship.  
All these months, he painfully longed for Finno, but in recent weeks, when he learned that Findecáno had left the palace alone, the yearning was replaced by fear. Maedhros was ready to come to terms with the fact that he would never see him, but only if he could know that Fingon was alive, was not held captive, that he did not lose his reason completely from grief.  
\- My Lord, - one of his retainers appeared in the doorway; he did not dare to enter, knowing that the son of Fëanor was in a bad mood, - I brought you good news. From the High King.  
Maedhros froze.  
\- The High King notified us that a son was born to him, to whom he gave the name of Ereinion and who may inherit his throne.  
\- Good news, indeed, - Maedhros said, still looking to window. - Write to him on my behalf and tell him... No, I'll better do it myself later…  
The messenger bowed and left.

Oh, if Findecáno only had any doubts about his love! They would have been forgotten if he had seen how Maitimo was tormented by jealousy and pain, how the nails on his left hand plunged into the palm, and how he still, even after so many years, was trying to clench his right fist in anger and despair.  
\- Why did I deserve this? – Maedhros whispered, as if hoping that Fingon could hear him. - Why? I've been faithful to you all this time, you knew that you were my one and only chosen one; why? We have had so much bad, terrible things to endure recently, so why did you spurn me?  
And when the first wave of pain subsided, he realized: Findecáno sacrificed himself again, just as he did it long ago for him because he considered it his duty to leave an heir to his people. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The description of Maedhros's feelings in the last chapters was in some way inspired by the following moment from a Dickens's novel:  
> "It might have softened him — indeed it might — to hear her turn a little fragment of a song he used to say he liked; trying, with a heart so full, to win him back" (of course, I did not imagine Fingon such an abusive meanie as the protagonist in question))


	11. I am his mother

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that this translation is so bad - I'll try to edit it later.  
> Actually this is the last chapter, but there is a short epilogue as well.

Maedhros came alone, ahead of his companions. He was told that the High King was in the garden behind the palace. Fingon sat on the ground playing with his little Ereinion. Fingon, thin and pale, looked very young; his tresses became conspicuously shorter. He let his hair down: the baby tugged at his dark curls, and then tried to tie an ornament to one of them.  
\- Finno, - said Maedhros.  
He reached for his cousin, and they clasped their hands. The child, frightened, moved closer to Fingon, staring with all his eyes at the tall stranger.  
\- Do not be afraid, - Fingon patted his son’s hand, - This is your uncle Maitimo...  
Maedhros stroked the child’s soft, chestnut-colored hair. If Fingon was much like Finwë, then Ereinion was just Finwë's little copy.  
However, the dislike of the child, which he tried to suppress ever since he learned about his existence, broke out with renewed force. Fingon looked him in the eyes, as if warding off Maedhros’s malicious glance from his son and said quietly:  
\- My father, before he died, made me swear that I would have an heir. I could not do anything about it. Please, Maitimo ... when I'm gone, take care of...  
\- Do not say this, Finno.  
Fingon’s face darkened. He looked away.  
\- No ... not care. Just promise me one thing.  
\- What?  
\- If my son stands in the way of your Oath, I demand that you spare him. Promise me this.  
Maedhros froze.  
\- I can not promise that.  
\- You can.  
\- It would never happen ...  
\- You must promise me, Maitimo.  
\- I ... – Maedhros looked at his mutilated hand and bit his lip. – Well. I will try.  
Emeldir approached them. Fingon nodded to her and said:  
\- It's time for the child to have his breakfast. I have to talk to my cousin in private, please, leave us.  
The woman held out her hands and Maitimo handed her the baby: when the child was taken from him, his heart ached painfully. He realized that he could not feel jealousy or dislike for Findecáno's son - only boundless love.  
\- I was so happy right now ... he, my Ereinion, my Gil-Galad, my Starlight and you. I do not need anyone else ... – Fingon said. Maitimo could see that he could hardly hold back tears. – I want to send my Ereinion away from here, to the island of Balar, where he will be safe ... My heart is breaking, but I understand that I can put it off no longer ... I'm very much afraid for him.  
\- But can at least his mother go with him? - asked Maedhros.  
\- No ... - Finedecáno shook his head. - No ... He has only one parent, that’s all.  
He lowered his head and, turning away, said:  
\- Nelyo ... this child was the biggest sacrifice in my life. But now everything is over. I do not know how much more time we have. Please do not be angry with me anymore ... Let's just be together - as long as possible.  
\- Finno, - said Maedhros quietly, - I know that you ... that you've always been ready to do everything for me ... And I, anyway, will forever be yours. I'm completely devoted to you; I’ve been faithful to you always, and I'm ready to share your sacrifice and your suffering, as if it were mine.  
They embraced and kissed, no longer thinking that they could be seen.

***

Deep in his heart Maedhros expected that as soon as they met, everything immediately would be revealed: Fingon would tell him everything. Perhaps, he would explain that Gil-Galad was not his own child, that he had adopted him or that some absurd accident or a tragic mistake happened. But no, no one explained him anything.  
He asked the little Gil-Galad when was his conception day. The child answered, "The sixtieth day of winter". If it was true, it would mean he was conceived on the very day of the painful farewell. Maedhros wondered how it could happen: either Fingon, outraged at his disgusting behavior that same day, immediately found someone else - or that this someone used the drunken helplessness of the king (it seemed to Maedhros that at that time they were both drunk).  
Maitimo immediately saw that Piukka, the nurse of Gil-Galad, played a very important role in the palace, but could not understand what this role was. A few days later, he already knew that some of the courtiers were sure that she was the mother of the prince, but no one could prove this. He also noticed another thing: this rumor was current mostly among the Elves. The Men either refused to discuss this question, or they said that it was Fingon's personal business, or confidently asserted that Gil-Galad's mother had died. All he was able to find out was that Piukka came to Hithlum a couple of weeks after the end of the royal mourning (and the appearance of Gil-Galad), and that Fingon immediately made her the nanny of his child.  
Most of all Maedhros was annoyed with the fact she called Findecano simply "Cáno."

He came into Fingon's room. Gil-Galad slept in his crib; Piukka was sitting next to him. Sunlight was already gone from the blue firmament, but the room was still filled with the soft glow of the evening sky.  
Maedhros stared at her. She turned around. He stood in the doorway, tall, angry, his face dark and gloomy, leaning his crippled hand against the doorpost.  
\- I did not see you in Hithlum before, - he said. - Who are you?  
Piukka repeated to him everything that she had already told Fingon about herself.  
\- And where did you live before? - asked Maitimo.  
\- In the north, near a mountain that looks like a sleeping bear, which is visible from the eastern peak of Mount Rerir, - she said.  
\- I've been there… - Maedhros remembered that one day during a hunt, he and his brothers, Caranthir and Celegorm got carried away and went very, very far (with Celegorm’s dog Huan, or they would have turned back much earlier). From the top of the hill, they saw this peak far beyond the Blue Mountains - a large, dark green rock, with red veins and a snow cover above. - It's in the far north-east. Now everything there is covered with ashes. How did you manage to escape from there?  
\- I knew the way, - Piukka answered simply.  
\- You are nursing the heir of my king. Do you have a child yourself?  
\- I had my husband and a son. Now I have no one.  
\- And if you were married, where is your marriage necklace, woman?  
\- And what’s up with yours? – Pio asked. She approached him and touched the collar. - You're not married, are you? What is that you wear on your neck? - She touched the silver chain, on which hung a blue sapphire star and pointed to another, copper chain round his neck. - If this is your wedding necklace, then where is your wife?  
This happened with him very rarely, but Maitimo felt his face turning red.  
\- I am not ... I did not ... - He wanted to say "I'm not married," but it would be a lie: he was. Piukka’s attentive gray eyes studied him. He turned away and ran out of the room.  
In the corridor, he ran into Emeldir.  
\- Emeldir ... – Maitimo said, out of his breath. - I spoke to her ... I probably told her too much. She would not say anything to me. But you must know ... Is she really is the mother of Ereinion? ... Is it true?  
Emeldir shook her head.  
\- Do you have the right to know this?  
Maedhros was confused.  
\- No, it's not true, she's not his mother, - Emeldir finally answered. - We had a talk with her about this. She assured me, as strongly as one of you Elves could assure me that she was not his mother.  
\- She said she had a son, and I thought ...  
\- Her son is long dead, - said Emeldir. - She's not Ereinion's mother.  
Maitimo had to be satisfied with what he had heard from Emeldir, but even after that, he could not overcome his dislike of the elf-woman.

A few days before the departure of Gil-Galad, Maitimo finally made up his mind. In the early morning, he went into Fingon's room.  
\- Will you go with Gil-Galad? - Fingon asked Pio once again, still unable to believe that he was letting go of his son.  
\- Of course, my dear, - she answered, and stroked Fingon's arm. - I will never leave him. Do not worry.  
Maedhros looked at her. He wanted to ask her to leave them alone, but he realized that it was impossible. He did not want to tell in her presence what he wanted to say, but, Maedhros thought bitterly, he might need a witness.  
\- Findecáno ... - he said, - and you, Artanáro Gil-Galad ... I gave to your father and grandfather the supreme authority over the Noldor. But I now have to admit that I did not do it completely. There is something, Findecáno, that I should have given to your father back then, but I just could not bring myself to do this, even though I refused our birthright. I want to give it to you, Gil-Galad.  
Maitimo removed the thin copper chain from his neck. On it hung something that looked as a crescent moon made of bone (well, not a "moon", Maedhros thought: when it was made, neither Moon nor Sun existed).  
\- You said it was a memory of Middle-earth, - said Fingon, taking a closer look. - I thought it was a gift from someone from Doriath. In Valinor, I have not seen this thing on you ...  
\- I got it from my father before he was gone. Fortunately, I did not take this thing with me when I was negotiating with Morgoth, so it was not lost. My father received it from his father Finwë after he followed him into exile in Formenos. Finwë had been wearing this ornament all his life: he got it here in Middle-earth ...  
Maitimo stretched out his left hand and, nervous, as always, when he had to deal with young children, stroked Gil-Galad’s wavy dark curls. Piukka held out her hand; they touched him at the same time. He put the chain on Gil-Galad’s neck.  
\- Now it's yours, - Maitimo breathed out.  
\- It's yours now, - the woman said gently.  
She put the second half of the ornament, a second bone half-moon on a black cord, on Gil-Galad’s neck.  
It was a part of the same bone circle: the rays of the star, which ended on the edge on Maedhros’s pendant, continued on Piukka’s.  
Fingon was astonished. Maitimo was the first to cope with the shock and asked:  
\- Where did you get that?  
\- My son gave me the other half when he left us, - she said unhappily.  
\- Was he... Finwë?! - Fingon asked.  
\- Yes, - she answered. - I'm Finwë’s mother.  
\- You ... you told me your son was dead, - Maitimo said with difficulty.  
\- Yes, he's dead. All this time I hoped that he would return.  
\- Then you ... - said Fingon. He took her hand. - You did not tell me what your name is! You're the one who's called the Second of the Awakened - Tatië...  
\- Yes, they call me that and many more, - she answered, - but I told you the truth: I do not have a name - my husband always called me just «my wife», and for Finwë I was just “mom”. You may call me whatever you want, I like “Piukka” as well.  
Fingon knelt before her and kissed her hand with reverence; Maitimo did the same.  
\- My poor children, - she said, and hugged them both.

\- Is this pendant a part of your marriage necklace? - Maedhros asked. - So, you had it...  
\- No, Maitimo, my husband made this ornament for me when Finwë was born. My marriage necklace was made of flowers and berries, and lasted only for a day.  
\- So it means ... then there is no Water of Awakening now? - Maedhros sighed. – My dream was to have a look at it... I’ve asked my father, but unfortunately when we arrived here he did not have enough time to tell me so I did not know how to find it.  
\- No, the Lake of Cuiviénen is no more, - She shook her head. - There's nothing left. I’ve barely escaped. This ornament was always on me, well, and I had few more things ... Under the lake there were many caves with rivers and waterfalls. I knew the way and I ran as best I could. The entrance was destroyed in a torrent of fire... there was steam, I was barely breathing ... I thought I could not get out of there ... I found a place where I did not feel the heat from above and there was the way out ... Probably many days have passed. I’ve found myself deep in the Blue Mountains, made my way through the woods and than I went to the west.  
\- I thought it was all fairy tales, - Maedhros said. – Old children's stories about the counting and numbers, old legends about the three first couples of the First-born Elves...  
\- My grandfather Finwë told me about his parents and about the Lake, - Fingon confessed. – Finwë once complained that Uncle Fëanor did not want to listen to stories about the past. He found it boring – Elves living in a forest, no cities, no books ... But will you tell your stories to Gil-Galad, will you?  
\- Of course, Cáno, I will - I'll tell your son, your nephews, and their children; and about Maitimo, and about Nolofinwë, and about you, too.  
\- But you will not tell _everything_ , right? – Fingon laughed.

In the evening she finally asked Fingon:  
\- So this child is Maitimo’s?  
\- Yes, - Fingon admitted.  
\- Well, at least Gil-Galad took to you; happily, he’s not red-headed. Why, then, Maitimo is a redhead? Why isn’t he dark, like everyone else? - Piukka asked Fingon.  
Fingon told her about Nerdanel, Amras and Amrod, assuring Piukka that other Fëanor’s children, Caranthir, Maglor and Curufin, as well as his own brother, Turgon, are dark-haired.  
\- Is Nerdanel a good woman? – Piukka unexpectedly asked.  
\- My aunt is very kind, - Fingon assured her, a little confused by the way she put her question. - She is just ... somewhat dreamy, but she is very caring.  
\- They say that the one who keeps a huge hound, Tyelcormo, is golden-haired? - She asked suspiciously. – Why is this?  
\- He dyes his hair gold, - Fingon explained. - He always wanted to be exactly like Oromë - to have his golden hair, his white dog and white horses, and all that.  
Piukka laughed:  
\- Well, he's no Oromë! And I was thinking he took after _her_ , - Piukka said, not without annoyance, and Fingon realized that “she” was her daughter-in-law Míriel. – The kind of man my son Finwë was! He always preferred blondes. The lighter, the better. Why all this, I wonder - there were plenty of nice dark-haired Noldor maidens! So his second wife was also blond, I hear! This Galadriel girl is also straw-haired. Do not be offended that I'm saying all this about Indis, the mother of your father. But you and Gil-Galad are my children, both black-haired. You both are so much like Finwë and my husband.  
\- Thank you, - Fingon chuckled and kissed her hand. He felt that he was always missing this kind of domestic chat. Fingon was so pleased by this simple thing: his son looks like his great-great-grandfather!

The next morning Maedhros again hoped to find Fingon with the child in the garden, but this time there were only Gil-Galad and Pio, with whom he exchanged a few words. He sat down next to them on a rock. The child still looked at him with distrust; the boy was frightened by the rather menacing appearance of the tall, redheaded, one-handed Noldo; Gil-Galad could not help feeling that for his beloved father "Uncle Maitimo" was, apparently, very, very important.  
Looking up, Maedhros saw at the top, in the window of the tower, what he thought was gold in Finno's tresses. He imagined his soft hair and warm neck under his palm and his heart sank in a fit of pain. He did not remember how he ran up to the top, under the roof - and indeed, Finno was there. With his hand on one of the beams of the vault, Finno leaned forward and looked out; he looked at Gil-Galad, trying to see Maitimo there, not noticing how he had left the garden. Fingon turned, embarrassed, as if he had been caught in something uncanny.  
\- Finno ... Finedecáno ... - he did not know what he meant to say to him; could not take his eyes off him. Maedhros was himself not sure how it happened, but he went down on his knees before Fingon. - I'm sorry... Forgive me, I beg you! It’s all my fault, all my fault! Forgive me, Finno... I just want to know... When I arrived, you kissed me, you said "let's be together". It’s self-evident, you know I will never leave you, no matter what; I'm your friend, brother, ally, I am a friend of your son, too. I just want to know: after all that happened... am I finally rejected or is there still a place in your heart for me? I have loved you and I’ve been loved by you all these years, I know. Even if I'm not your chosen one anymore... - He could not speak further.  
Fingon looked at him for a long time, answering nothing; Maitimo looked up, and Fingon’s glance made him feel uneasy. He cried. The words of love mixed in his soul with bitter reproaches; he wanted to say: "How could it happen? All these years all I felt for you was a sincere, marital love; it was a thirst I could not quench from any other source; I still feel it, and what about you?” - Maitimo thought that he had been punished by the one feeling that was always the worst for him: the desperate jealousy, and now he had to endure it till the end of his earthly existence.  
\- Of course, Maitimo. - Finno finally sat down beside him and hugged him. - Do not cry ... I love you. How can I not? - he said, and thought: "Well, after all, he's the father of my child".  
He did not want and could not tell anything to him; Fingon had thought that now it would be hard for him to be alone with Maedhros, since there was still this reticence in their relationship (even though at his request Mairon returned his body into the original form). Now, when he was in Maedhros’s arms, he suddenly realized with relief that it was also possible to be like this. Fingon could belong to him and absorb his love without saying anything; he could be silently grateful to him for the happiness involuntarily given, for their child; he could forgive his lover not with words, but with the touch of his lips on Maedhros’s long wet eyelashes and red locks on his temples.  
Maedhros kissed his hands, his forehead, kissed his neck, unbuttoned the heavy collar of his shirt embroidered with pearls. His heart started to beat heavily when he felt that Fingon was holding him tightly, as before. He felt a light wind in the sky around them, heard the voices of birds on the roof of the tower, the voice of the child below, in the garden. Recalling this later, he always thought: there is hope - not for himself, he lost all his hope, taking the oath with his father - it simply is.


	12. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know it's an odd turn of events, so we can skip the epilogue and pretend it never happened:)  
> Neth is Proto-Elvish for 'girl / female' and Mel is Proto-Elvish for 'love / friend'.

_Ammenya_ ...  
Mommy ...  
Fingon allowed Gil-Galad to call him that only when no one else could be around.  
Fingon told his son everything about his birth when the boy was fourteen. He came to visit Gil-Galad, already knowing that he was going to have this conversation, and being mentally prepared for the fact that after this revelation his son would reject or almost reject him. Nevertheless, Fingon could deceive him no longer. Most of all, the king did not want his son to learn about this from someone else, and even more so he did not want Mairon or his master to have an opportunity to blackmail Gil-Galad when his parents were gone.  
Fingon was unaware how badly his son was suffering from not knowing anything about his mother. Later, Gil-Galad regretted for years because he, a fourteen-year-old boy, desperately tried to restrain himself even at that moment and did not say and do everything he wanted to. However, Fingon was actually very happy, because after a few minutes of initial bewilderment, misunderstanding and shock, a wave of delight and joy came over him, which he could sense almost physically. His son loved him – and loved him now even more as his mother. The excruciating months of pregnancy now finally became for him a happy memory.  
Gil-Galad asked about his father; reluctantly, Fingon explained. Gil-Galad, it seemed to him, was not pleased, but fortunately, he did not ask why Maedhros became his father and how did it happen. He always treated Maedhros with some coldness, and this news, Fingon realized with disappointment, did not make Gil-Galad think better of him.  
\- _Ammenya_ , - his son whispered in his ear.

***

Gil-Galad knew that Tatië would return to him. He was sure that no one could hurt her.  
Three years ago, she left with Emeldir to visit her son, Beren, his young wife Lúthien and their child; although the roads were dangerous, and now, after the Battle of the Countless Tears to get from the faraway Ossiriand here, to the western shores of Beleriand was almost impossible - he believed that she would return. He needed her still now, when he was eighteen years old. She was always with him. Almost from birth. Before his birth. Fingon told him how Tatië brought him food, how she consoled him, when he fell into despair. He said that, having given birth to the child, he wanted to leave him here in the forest and run away.  
Gil-Galad saw her from afar, as she descended from the ship. She still felt herself uncomfortable on the ship, he knew it, and she was a poor rider, although she could ran almost as fast as a horse: after all, she was a forest Elf. As usual, she was wearing a dark blue dress, the one Fingon sent her as a gift a few weeks before his demise. It was painful to think that it would some day wear out, Gil-Galad realized; he should ask her to keep at least a piece of cloth and embroidery as a memento.  
He ran along the shore to meet her; the shells crunched underfoot, the pines on his right clung to the stones, their roots almost reached the waves, and he could smell the sea and pine needles. Recently he tasted the pine seeds; other Noldor assured him that they were inedible or laughed at him, saying that he was becoming an Avari, but he liked it.  
He was getting closer and closer. Tatië went to him, she had a basket in her hands; her hair were loose, and now he saw her face.  
Something cracked inside him, something faded, something twirled. The light disappeared, the horizon disappeared, the clouds disappeared, the air around him melted away.  
Only her face remained, only her eyes, only she remained, and he knew that for her too, there was only him - now and always.  
\- _Neth_... - he said.  
\- _Mel_ ... - she said.  
\- It's me. It's me, - he repeated again, not believing himself.  
\- Now I see, - she answered. - Now I see.  
\- But you did not wait too long, did you? Did you, o my wife?  
\- Twenty-eight years without you is a very long time. Longer than forty thousand years with you.


End file.
